Mad Love: The Final Chapter
by AmberZ10
Summary: Sequel to Mad Love: A New Beginning The story of lives lived.
1. Chapter 1

Pamela dropped a thick stack of paper on Harleen's stomach. "I'm going to grow it in the lab."

"What?" The blonde wheezed at the solid 5lbs that was just dropped onto her abdomen.

"Your child. Our child. The human child." Pamela was clearly excited. "I'm going to grow it in the lab like what W—well there was an incubation process involved…after the table…" A darkness passed through her eyes and Harleen held her breath, ready to deal with the trigger if they came to it, but Pamela seemed to shake it off just as quick. "I think I can mimic the conditions of a womb using that technology."

Harleen was incredulous. "You want to grow our baby in a test tube?"

"But that's just it!" Pam gripped her hand, smiling broadly. "It could be our baby. Yours and mine."

"You're kidding." Harleen sat up from where she'd been lounging on the couch.

Pamela shook her head, the smile still overtaking her fair features. "It's all in here. Look." She tried to show Harley the handwritten equations on the papers she'd dropped that were evidently supposed to mean something.

"No, shhh, Babe." Harleen pushed the papers away and pulled Pam onto the couch instead. "The science stuff makes the baby making way less sexy."

The redhead couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I can't actually impregnate you. The fertilization will be taking place entirely—" She was cut off when Harleen grabbed her jacket an yanked her into a passionate kiss. "Can we tryyyyy?" The blonde giggled.

"Honestly, Harleen." Ivy huffed. "You're a grown woman, this behavior—" This time she was cut off by Harley swiftly reversing their positions so the redhead was underneath her on the couch.

"That's right." Harleen grinned mischievously as she unbuttoned Pam's high-waisted slacks and began to slide them down inch by inch. "I'm a grown-up who gets to have grown-up sleepovers with her grown-up wife."

"That's…not exactly a turn on." Pam admitted as she raised her hips to help with the removal process.

"Then why are we taking these off?" The blonde referred to the pants as she tossed them aside.

"Well I thought I'd give you another chance to wow me before I turned the tables." The redhead told her, and from her expression, Harleen knew she was serious.

/

Poison Ivy sat at Batman's desk distractedly tapping her thigh. She hated this. The whole premise of the question made her feel weak- needy. Poison Ivy was neither of those things. Never had been. It was embarrassing, was what it was. To ask for something is open yourself up to rejection, and because that wasn't a concept Ivy was intimately familiar with, she tended to take it harder when someone did- in fact- deny her.

But this wasn't for her, truly. It was for Harleen. So she would swallow her pride, if only for a moment, and ask Batman the question she'd prepared. If only he would get here…Ivy had already been waiting in the Batcave for 20 minutes. When the Batmobile did eventually show up, it wasn't even Batman driving it.

Batgirl came to a stop on the parking platform and hopped out of the butterfly door, tossing the keys to Alfred as he entered the cave from the house, likely thinking Bruce was captaining the vehicle as well.

"Hey, Pam." Barbara smiled as she pulled her cowl off, letting it fall to hang like a hood around her neck. "Isn't it your day off?"

Ivy waited until the girl descended the steps down to her level before responding, that way she wouldn't have to shout. "I'm on call." She explained her bodysuit.

"Ah." Barbara stripped off her gloves and set them on the desk the other woman was sitting at. "So you're here for Harl, then? I thought she didn't get off at Arkham for another three hours. Dick's out patrolling, I was going to do a master scan…" She tried to subtly motion to the computer.

"Oh, sorry." Ivy got up and Barbara took her place on the chair, booting up the program on the large monitor. "You're correct about Harley; she's planning on taking the nightshift here so you can sleep. You look tired, Darling."

"Thanks, Mom." Barbara teased as she pressed the button to start scanning the city for threats.

That word cut through the distraction and reminded Ivy of her mission here. "I need to speak with Bruce."

"He's visiting Selina." Barbara informed her. "Can I help?"

Ivy sighed. "I suppose I've been procrastinating on a visit of my own…"

Barbara chuckled. "Sorry. You need a change of clothes?"

The older redhead looked down to examine herself, realizing that Poison Ivy's bodysuit probably wasn't the proper attire for a human-run rehab center.

"Selina keeps some extra stuff in Bruce's closet." Barbara told her as the results of the system's scan came back: two possible threats. She stood up. "I gotta go. We still on for book club this week?"

Ivy was nodding when Alfred came behind them and tapped her on the shoulder. "Here you are, Dr. Isley." He handed her what was presumably an appropriate outfit in a garment bag. "And might I suggest…" He dangled a set of keys from his index finger.

/

Pamela sped along the backroads of Gotham City, Selina's Porsche handling well around the corners as she pointed it in the direction of the treatment facility. Coming to a screeching halt in front of the building, Pamela tossed her keys to the valet and pushed the pair of aviator sunglasses she'd borrowed from Selina's console up on her head, using them to pin back her red locks.

She strutted up to the front desk, leaning over to inquire where Selina Kyle's room was.

"Are you a friend or a family member?" The nurse behind the counter asked. "Because we only let family in without a scheduled visit."

Pamela groaned internally. "I'm her sister."

"Okay…" The woman lifted a clipboard from her top drawer and handed it to Pamela. "You'll need to fill out these forms and then submit to a full body search."

 _There's no way I'll be doing any of that_. "Is there a doctor I could speak to?"

And then, as if summoned by magic, a man in a tie and lab coat entered through the door behind the nurse's station.

"Dr. Grimmie." The nurse got his attention. "This woman wanted to speak to a doctor."

"How can I help you, Miss?" He asked, looking at her expectantly.

Pam swallowed her anger at not being addressed using the "Doctor" credential, and smiled at him, cranking up the pheromones she secreted. "I would like to see my sister, but I don't want to have to fill out this paperwork and I certainly don't wish to be felt up like a common human."

"That's alright." The man answered, a dopey grin on his face. "You can just go in."

"Doctor Grimmie?" The nurse was alarmed at his sudden break in protocol.

Pamela briefly turned her attention back to the woman. "Your concern does not go unnoticed. I can assure you, though, I am no threat to Ms. Kyle's recovery. Doctor?" She focused on the man once more. "Would you kindly escort me to my desired location?" The doctor obliged her, and despite the nurse's frustration and protests, he did walk her to Selina's room. "Thank you." Pam said. "Now go away from me and never attempt to speak to me again.

"Okay." He grinned at her and started back towards the lobby.

"Idiot." Pam muttered as she opened the door.

Firstly, the room looked more like an upscale one-bedroom apartment than a rehab facility. It suddenly made a lot of sense why there would be valet parking up front. Bruce was sitting on the bed and Selina sat across from him on the ground with her back against the wall. Both looked up at the door as Ivy entered.

"No fucking way." Selina said. "She finally came."

Pam rolled her eyes. "You've only been here a week, Cat. Honestly."

"Hey, you don't get to tell me when to not be disappointed with you." Selina said. "And what the hell, Ivy? You just barge in here without knocking? What if me and Bruce had been doing the nasty?"

Bruce smirked at her word choice.

"Then I would have kindly asked the nursing staff for some chemicals that I could use to burn my eyes out." Pam answered, calmly, sitting down next to Bruce on the bed.

"Oh, knock it off." Selina glared. "How's your child-bride anyway?"

"Selina!" Pam couldn't believe they were back to this. "Harleen is 37 years old. When will she no longer be a child to you?"

"And you're only 5 years older, Selina." Bruce reminded her. "Come up with some new material."

"Ugh." Selina groaned, leaning her head back against the wall. "I want a drink."

Pam regarded Selina for a moment, noticing the obvious fatigue in her shoulders and the dark circles under her eyes, then turned her attention to Bruce. "I need 1.3 million dollars and I would like you to give it to me." She'd decided to go for the blunt approach.

Selina's head snapped back to attention and Bruce choked on the air he was attempting to breath. "You want what for what?" He asked.

Pamela sighed at having to repeat the information. "I would like 1.3 million dollars for a scientific pursuit…Thank you."

"There's no way I'm—"

"Harleen wants a child." Pamela told him, the words flowing forth seemingly without her consent. To Pamela's surprise, neither of them responded right away. Selina's jaw dropped and Bruce's eyes widened and he suddenly looked like a person one might encounter in Arkham. "I believe I have come up with a way in which the child could be both hers and mine." Pam continued because the room was still silent. "You see, a normal human child wouldn't be able to survive prolonged exposure to me, and would be too young to receive the immunities I afforded Harleen. So, really, a child that shares my DNA- including some degree of immunity- is the only workable scenario."

"What in the actual fuck?!" Selina demanded.

Pam sighed once more. "Harleen Quinzel, the woman I'm married to. You remember her, don't you? You were in our wedding? She was in a wheelchair for a while…blonde hair, blue eyes…"

"Oh, don't be a dick, Ivy. Yeah, I got it." Selina sat forward. "Now explain the rest."

The redhead pinched the bridge of her nose and began a bit slower this time. "Harleen would like a child. I am married to Harleen, therefore her having a child means my having a child. There are certain biological and physiological factors that prohibit not only successful procreation, but also survival of the fetus, infant, or even toddler. I have discovered a way to create a child that would not only share our DNA, but would also survive the poisons I emit. However, that plan requires me to more or less recreate the incubation chamber that…" She cleared her throat. "That Jason Woodrue used to make me."

Selina nodded slowly. "Hence the 1.3 million dollars."

"Right." Pamela told her.

"So what you're essentially asking me is if I will fund the creation of another Poison Ivy? Another plant-human hybrid?" Bruce was incredulous.

"Well I'll have to experiment with the proper ratio of plant to human…and without those tests there's no way for me to gauge what- if any- their special abilities would be." Ivy admitted. "But my request isn't nefarious in any sense. My wife wants a baby; I would like to give her one."

"Well when you put it like that…" Selina scoffed. "What about you? Do you want a baby?"

The redhead cleared her throat. "I was…I was against the proposal initially, but have since come around to a different opinion."

"How'd she convince you?" Selina wanted to know. "Sex? Guilt? Doe-eyes? All three, maybe? All three simultaneously? Pammy, she's a manipulator."

"Don't call me Pammy." The redhead snapped.

Bruce had been deep in thought during Pam and Selina's exchange, and so it startled both women when he suddenly spoke up. "Yes." He looked Pamela in the eyes. "Yes, I will give you the money and provide the lab space, should you need it. But if it's a boy, I'm putting him in a Robin suit."


	2. Chapter 2

Harleen had been released from duty an hour ago, but she still hadn't left the batcave. She sat, cross-legged, wearing her Batwoman suit, starring in wonderment at the incubation tank that was maturing the four fetuses. Pamela had explained there was a high chance failure despite her tireless efforts, so in the interest of success, Pam had fertilized four of the viable eggs she'd extracted from Harley. At this stage, Pamela could tell that if they were to survive, three would be female and one male. The Y chromosome was evidently housed within Pamela's plant DNA, so Harleen guessed that the boy would look more like Pam than her. She was sort of worried it would come out with green skin. Actually, she was really worried about that. Pam had even told her it was "more than likely." Harleen didn't really care personally, she liked Pam's skin, but she knew that it had taken her a while to master the art of changing her complexion after she woke up from the coma. Harleen was sure they'd be able to give their son a decent education and everything before he figured it out, Pam was super smart and so was Bruce, for that matter. Actually, so was she! Harley had to remind herself for about the billionth time that she was a doctor. But still, kids need friends, and the green skin would be a dead giveaway that maybe one of these things is not like the others.

"Are you familiar with the saying, 'a watched pot never boils'?" Alfred asked, causing the blonde to jump to her feet in surprise.

"Alfred! I didn't—you're sneaky—I didn't hear you." Harleen stammered. "I'm sorry, I was just heading home."

"No need to apologize, Dr. Quinzel. It wasn't my intention to startle you." He came to stand beside her, looking at the incubation tank. "How are the little ones coming along?"

Harleen blushed. "Pam says I can't call them babies yet. They basically look like aliens at this point anyway. But not the hot Kryptonian kind."

Alfred squinted to try to get a better look at them in the orange fluid. "Have you named them?"

"Oh, sure." Harley nodded, smiling. "Pam did. One, Two, Three and Four."

Alfred smirked. "And who said former super villains shouldn't be parents."

Harleen sighed. "She's just looking out for me. Doesn't want me to get too attached."

But she did get too attached. When Two "expired" (as Pam put it) it felt as if a piano had been dropped on Harleen's chest. When they lost Three, she tried her best to keep tears out of her eyes, to swallow it all back, or at least in Pam's presence. She was so tired of feeling weak in front of her. First the mental Harley intrusion, then the chair…it was embarrassing. Pam had warned her this would hurt if she got too close, but she didn't listen, or didn't care, maybe. Either way, she didn't let her wife know how much this process was breaking her heart until One died.

Pamela was up in the Watchtower when the alert came in. She had been monitoring their vitals remotely. Harleen could just imagine her sighing with indifference before picking up the phone.

Dr. Quinzel was in a session when she called, so she was greeted with what was probably the most depressing voicemail she'd ever received after she was through. Pam hadn't seemed all that broken up in the message, more just exhausted. So that night, even though she was supposed to only be on call with the Bat-family, she put her Batwoman suit on anyway and patrolled the city. She knew Pam was probably wondering where she was. Knew that Fridays were supposed to be their date nights…but she couldn't stomach it at the moment.

Once again, though, Harleen was reminded that she could run, but she couldn't hide when a rooftop garden suddenly came alive and thick vines wrapped around her legs, stopping her momentum. Harleen sighed and turned around to watch Poison Ivy pull herself up onto the roof.

"Are we getting kinky?" Batwoman asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Ivy allowed the plants to drop their grip on the blonde's ankles as she approached her. "What are you doing?"

"Umm…patrolling. What does it look like I'm doing?"

The redhead crossed her arms. "It looks like you're ignoring my calls."

"I'm busy." Harley tried not to sound too defensive.

Ivy narrowed her eyes at the other woman. "Busy patrolling. On your night off."

"Yeah." Harleen confirmed, haughtily.

Ivy was silent for a moment. One of those focused silences that Harleen hated because it meant she was thinking. When they first met, back when Ivy was a patient at Arkham and Harleen was her doctor, those silences had meant Ivy was scheming. Now they usually meant she was synthesizing information. Seeking to understand a behavior or an interaction.

"Four is still viable, Harleen." Ivy said, finally breaking the silence. "His immunities appear effective, his vitals are healthy…if he survives another two weeks, he'll have made it through the incubation process and be ready to function as a human infant would."

Harleen could feel the pressure of tears gathering behind her eyes. _His_ … _he_ … _him_ …they would have a baby boy. "But I'm not supposed to get my hopes up, right? Can't think of him as a baby…can't expect he'll survive…"

Ivy came closer, holding out her hands to the vigilante. Batwoman took them with some reluctance. "I think he'll make it." Ivy told her, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "I think he's going to be OK."

Harleen's bottom lip quivered. "That's what I thought about the other ones."

The redhead nodded. "I know. But this one is a fighter. He's like a weed growing through the pavement. He can't be stopped. He wants to be here, Harleen."

Batwoman hadn't noticed she'd let down her defenses and begun to cry until a tear became trapped in her cowl and Ivy did the honors of wiping it away. "I want to be his mom."

Ivy smiled kindly back at her. "I want that for you too."

"But they all died, Pam." The blonde sniffed. "They all seemed alright, and then they died. What if he doesn't make it?"

Poison Ivy ran her hands up Harley's arms and back down again, maintaining her sincere smile as she did so. "Then we'll try again. It's as simple as that."

Maybe it was just their history of manipulating each other, but Harleen had this nagging feeling that maybe they'd never have a baby. Maybe Pam wasn't even actually trying. Maybe her creations were never meant to live. But Pamela was extremely goal oriented. She'd made a promise, and once she set her mind to something, it was difficult to pull her off the scent. So Harley had to trust. This is the woman she'd married, the one who slept beside her every night, the one she'd chosen to spend the rest of her life with. If she couldn't trust her, then who could she trust?

Harleen leaned forward and kissed her. Pam was obviously surprised, they usually followed a strict 'no public displays of affection in costume' rule, but Batwoman figured it was OK to break it just this once. They were—maybe—going to be parents. If that's not a reason to kiss your wife, Harley didn't know what was.

/

"Earmuffs." Selina explained as Harleen stared questioningly at the contents of the gift. "Nobody wants to hear their parents…you two are gross."

"We're not animals, Selina. We do have the ability to—" Pam was cut off when Harleen began to laugh.

"I can't even believe they make them this small." The blonde said, pulling them out of the package to examine them.

Pam sat back cautiously, watching the situation play out. Selina had been back for three days, and so far it had been smooth sailing between she and Harleen. Pam didn't want to jinx it.

"Thanks, Selina." Harleen set it aside and picked up the next present. "This from you, Babs?"

"No." Selina answered. "That's from me too, actually."

"You didn't have to…" Harleen began before the brunette stepped in.

"Part of this…process is saying I'm sorry, and I have a lot to apologize to you about, Harleen. So…two presents is the least I could do. Seriously." From Selina's tone, Pam knew that she meant it. Harley did too- evidently- because she just nodded and began unwrapping the green paper.

Pam peered over her shoulder and watched as Harleen revealed what appeared to be photo album with a personalized cover that included a powder blue bat symbol covered with ivy vines and the title: "Isley-Quinzel".

Harleen looked over at Selina, a wide smile on her face.

"I know you like to take pictures…the albums you had were getting pretty full. I thought this could represent a new chapter. Leave some of that other bullshit behind." Selina explained.

"That was thoughtful…" Pam mumbled as she plucked the gift from Harley's hands to examine it.

Barbara pushed a package towards them. "This is from me and Dick."

Harleen grinned and tore away the wrapping. "Aww…" She said as she lifted the copy of Goodnight Moon off of the stack of children's books. "And look, Pam!" She held up The Giving Tree. "Isn't that cute?"

"Oh, sure." The redhead crossed her arms. "By all means, let's teach our son- who will be part plant- that he must sacrifice for the human race until he has given all of himself."

Harleen rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Barbara. "These are really sweet. Thanks."

"No, but Ivy, that's why we brought you the tree." Dick indicated the seedling they'd brought in when they came. "Like dogs are supposed to be man's best friend, but since the little guy's gonna have some plant in him, we thought he might prefer a tree. In the book, the kid and the tree are friends."

Pamela narrowed her eyes, quickly glancing from Dick, to the seedling and back again. "I…I understand the sentiment." She admitted. "That's…kind of you."

Dick smirked, seemingly pleased with himself as he received a thumbs-up from Barbara.

"Everything else you'll need I'm having shipped here." Bruce informed them. "A crib, a stroller…all top of the line."

Harleen picked up the last gift. "So then what's this?"

"Just putting him on the right track." Bruce smiled as Harley took the gift out of its bag.

Selina laughed immediately while Dick and Barbara looked at Pam, obviously wanting to gauge their reactions off of hers.

"You have got to be kidding me." Pam groaned in response to the onesie styled to look like the Robin suit. It didn't matter how long she'd been working with Batman; she would never get used to being known as a part of his team. Yes, carbon emissions were down by 22% worldwide since the Justice League began helping to push the environmentalist agenda, but she was still sure it would never feel quite right. And now her son was to be part of the Bat-Family as well? Was nothing sacred? But Harleen had risen from her seat and was pulling Bruce into an unrelenting hug. And Pam sighed, remembering that Bruce's true gift was the finances he'd donated to creating their baby in the first place. He felt invested in the boy's well-being.


	3. Chapter 3

It was on Harleen's last day working at Arkham that Ivy was alerted the fetus had completed its maturation process. Selina came to pick Harleen up from the asylum because she was still pretending to be disabled and couldn't get her driver in time. She couldn't sit still the entire drive which was likely driving Selina up the wall, but she couldn't help it! Her baby was coming!

"Is Pam already there?" Harley asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Selina nodded calmly. "She's giving him a last minute check-up before she shuts down the incubation tank."

The blonde grinned giddily and jumped into her wife's arms when they'd made it to the Batcave. She could feel Pam's heart beating fast against her chest, and it occurred to Harleen for the first time that maybe she was excited too.

Selina grabbed the swaddling clothes from where Pam had stashed them and stood at the ready as the redhead lowered Harley back to her feet. "He's ready," she whispered.

"Me too." The blonde replied, her voice catching a bit.

The "birth" wasn't quite how Harleen imagined having a baby. There wasn't anything "natural" about it, really. It was more like something out of a sci-fi movie. Which, like, really…was exactly what this was. The more Harleen thought about it, the more it made her head spin. But to Pam—to Ivy—it was magical. Harleen could see it in her eyes—this was…moving. Deeply moving. Pamela was bringing innocence into this world by the same process that had robbed her of hers so many years ago. It was, in some ways, the ultimate redemption. And all of Harleen's worries about how Pam would interact with a boy (given her complicated feelings towards men) melted away when she pulled him out of the liquid. Harleen's heart skipped a beat when he didn't cry right away, but Pamela calmly wiped the excess fluid away from his mouth and eyes, using a small tube to extract a mucous-like substance from his lungs—and then Harleen heard it.

Her baby boy, bright blue eyes wide open, sputtering through his first breathes. Selina handed Pam a blanket and she wiped his head, drying the patches of fiery red hair he already had growing there. Harleen wasn't sure it was totally normal for a baby to be born with hair like that, but then again, their baby wasn't exactly normal. And his skin wasn't green like Pam's, just pale with a slight tint. Like…like Ivy on the day they'd first met in Arkham. Definitely different, but easily played off as a trick of the light.

Harleen didn't even realize she was moving until she felt his soft skin below her fingertips. Pam turned to her with a dazzling smile, equal parts "Look what I did! Aren't you proud?" and "Can you believe it? He's ours."

"What are you gonna name him?" Selina asked. "Barbara Jr.?"

The new parents looked at their baby then… _he did sort of look like Barbara_ … "Anthony." Harleen answered, as if 'Barbara Jr.' was actually on the table. "I want to name him Anthony."

"Why?" Pam asked, examining their son closer, evidently searching out the name in his features.

"Because Anthony means flower." Harleen smiled, reverently brushing her fingers over his forehead and down his soft cheek. "And he's my little flower."

/

Pamela was granted 6 weeks of maternity leave from Wayne Enterprises, and although she was still required to report to the Watchtower when necessary, Pam and Harleen were, for the most part, able to keep that time just between Anthony and them. It was sort of…perfect.

So maybe it wasn't exactly how Harleen imagined having her first kid. Maybe she wasn't raising it in the environment she'd expected to. And maybe that was fine. Actually, yes. It was fine.

Motherhood came naturally to Pam. Harley had watched her relate to her plants as their mother for years, but always with a sort of endearing snicker. In the back of her mind, Harley regarded Pam's obsession with her "plant babies" to be part of her mental illness...but now…seeing her relate to an actual baby, Harley realized that it was all the same. Yes, a human demanded a bit more from her, but she was just as warm and loving towards Anthony as she was towards any of the occupants of her greenhouse.

Harleen didn't have as much experience under her belt, but she got the gist of the whole thing: be at Anthony's beckon call, change his diaper, and don't eat him. That last part should have been obvious, but good God, he was so fucking cute and his cheeks were so round and his hands were so little…

Anthony didn't sleep as much as a normal baby would. Pam said he didn't need to, which was just as well for Harleen. She liked to watch how he took in the world. How his eyes widened as he attempted to understand what was going on…Again, and not to be understated, Anthony was far and away the cutest baby Harley had ever seen. And yeah, yeah, she knew all moms said that, but…the kid did have some pretty solid genes working for him, after all.

It was really important for Pam that Anthony knew she loved him. She said it a lot. Whispering it into his ear when she thought they were alone or nervously reaffirming it in front of Harleen when she knew they weren't. But even still, Harleen could tell her wife was afraid. Afraid of the baby she loved so much, probably for that very reason. There hadn't been many things in this life that Pamela had allowed herself to love. And Harleen hadn't forgotten what Pamela said at the restaurant that night, either, how hard it would be on her to not only lose her to old age, but Anthony as well. And yes, Harley understood that argument, it was valid…but isn't it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? Or maybe Harleen could only say that because it wasn't her reality to face.

In any case, at this rate, she was going to fill up the photo album Selina gave them before Pam even went back to work.

/

Anthony reached his hand out and grabbed aimlessly at Harleen's lips, but when he was unable to keep a strong hold, he grabbed a fist-full of her hair instead.

Harley giggled, turning her head and gently gnawing on the fingers wrapped up in her blonde hair. "Num num num." She smiled against his hand and watched as his mouth opened into a smile of his own, his blue eyes squinting slightly. "You're really cute, you know that?" She asked, rhetorically.

Anthony gurgled and gave a sort of hiccup in response as his mother unwrapped his fist from her hair and held his hand in her own.

"Hey," Pam sat down on the bed behind her.

"Hey," Harleen said, not breaking her eye contact with Anthony lying beside her. "I think he's gonna be smart."

Pam chuckled, cozying up behind Harley and wrapping her arm around her stomach. "Of course he will," she breathed against her wife's skin as she nuzzled her face into the crook of her neck. "I need to give him another shot today."

"Nooooo…" Harley whined. "He hates them, Pam."

The redhead sighed. "It's to counteract the chlorophyll…until he can do it himself. It's necessary if we want to be able to leave the house with him, or open the curtains, for that matter."

Harleen sighed too as he remembered how his skin had reacted the same way Ivy's did in the sun- photosynthesizing in some capacity, leaving him noticeably green but still less so than his mother. "Yeah, alright." She turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. "I just hate it when he cries like that."

"Well it seems crying unnecessarily is hereditary." Pam smiled, adjusting her head to lay on Harleen's chest so she could look at Anthony.

"Hey!" Harley protested, pinching the other woman lightly. "That's not true. My crying is always justified."

Pam raised her eyebrows and looked up at the blonde. "You cried when I sent you that picture of him with the pumpkin."

"Pam, it was Anthony posed next to a Poison Ivy jack-o-lantern. How could I not cry at that? You know I've always had the hots for her." Harley reasoned.

The redhead laughed. "It looked absolutely nothing like me."

"You know what, Babe? Next time you carve the human form into a pumpkin, I'll let you know how realistic is looks." Anthony laughed as Harleen wrapped up her sentence, causing both women to jump a bit, until they realized he was just preoccupied with the sock on his foot.

"Oh, yeah. That boy will have quite the wit, I can tell." Pam's tone was facetious, earning her another pinch from the blonde.

"You're gonna give him a complex." Harleen said as she reached over to help him pull the sock off. "And to be fair, these socks are pretty funny." She held it up for Ivy to observe. "See? They've got little eyeballs on them."

"Mmm." Pam narrowed her eyes at the garment as she took it from Harley to examine it closer. She turned the sock over between her fingers, using her other hand to pinch the bulging eyeballs at the toe.

And Harleen couldn't help but smile. "You know what's funny?" She asked.

"Well according to our son, these socks." Pam answered.

"I really like you." Harley told her.

Pam scooted off of her chest, incredulous, propping herself up on her elbow. "Well I certainly hope you do."

Harley laughed, reaching over to tuck a strand of stray hair behind her wife's ear. "No, I mean…still. I really like you still. Like I just…enjoy being around you, ya know?"

"Not all the time." Pam reminded her with a smile.

"No." Harleen laughed. "Sometimes you can be a raging bitch."

"Takes one to know one."


	4. Chapter 4

Selina watched Anthony closely as he crawled from where she was seated in the grass on the floor of the greenhouse, over Harleen. "So you made the changes to the paperwork, right? I'm officially his godmother now?"

Harleen rolled her eyes. "We told you Babs is his godmother."

"No…" Selina corrected. "Babs is his biological mother. I'm the godmother. It's different."

A tree branch bent down and smacked the brunette lightly on the back of the head. She whipped around to see Pamela smirking at her from her workbench.

"Let's break down that joke you keep making, Selina." Pam said, calmly diverting most of her attention back onto the liquid she was siphoning off drop by drop from her beaker. "I mean, honestly. What would the exact mix of Harleen and I look like? Act like? A redheaded, blue eyed, sarcastic and highly intelligent gymnast. Now what did I just describe? Barbara or the perfect mix of Harleen and my attributes?"

Selina looked from Pam to Harleen to the baby and back again. "You're blowing my mind."

Harley chuckled as Anthony crawled into her lap, finding himself a comfortable position before evidently challenging Selina to a starring contest.

"I hope you're not poisoning him against me." Selina intoned, committed to winning the contest, even if her opponent was only 8 months old.

Harley brushed the question off with a smile. "Has Damien learned to hate you yet?"

Selina sighed, admitting defeat and turning her attention to the baby's mother. "As a matter of fact, he has. Talia made sure of that."

"Well…If it's any consolation," Pamela piped up, "Talia is _the worst_ and I'm sure her kid will be too. Even if he's mostly Bruce."

"That does make me feel a bit better, yes." Selina admitted. "But I am actually trying to make an effort, which is way more than I can say for her."

"Selina…" Harleen pulled on her therapist persona. "She stole Bruce's sperm and created a child clone, and even after all that—or, because of that?—he still picked you. I think some hostility is to be expected."

The brunette sighed. "I feel like we should all be able to just murder people and steal things in peace."

Harleen narrowed her eyes. "I guess Pam and I should pretend like we didn't hear that?"

"Oh no!" Selina covered her mouth in mock horror, turning to look at Pam. "Poison Ivy, what happened to honor among thieves?!"

"I am an Eco-terrorist, not a thief." Pam corrected without raising her eyes from the beaker now heating over a Bunsen burner. But she felt Harleen's glare move to her, so she corrected to "was an Eco-terrorist," as quickly as she could.

"Pameleen strikes again", Selina mumbled, turning her attention back to Anthony. She chuckled at the boy as he reverently placed his hand on his mother's cheek, and then pulled it back and smacked her in the face.

"Hey." Harleen caught his hand as he went to repeat the motion. "That's ouchie, Ant. Ouchie on Mama's face."

Selina was smiling broadly now. "I love that kid."

/

Pamela flipped them over on the bed, taking her turn in the driver's seat. She dragged her lips from just below Harley's ear to the hollow of her neck, planting kisses along the way. Harleen kept her bottom lip firmly between her teeth, but let out a strangled moan none the less when Pam's tongue danced on a particularly sensitive area. Pam was quick to clamp her hand down over the other woman's mouth, shushing her emphatically through a suppressed giggle. She gave her a warning look, and then slowly lifted her hand away.

Harley's eyes flitted over to the baby monitor, which was (thankfully) still silent. Pam cautiously resumed the path of her lips down her wife's chest and then stomach. She stalled once she reached her navel, resting her chin there as she looked up at the other woman. "What do you want?" She whispered.

Harleen grabbed her by her shoulders, pulling her up and locking her into a hungry kiss. That was all the information Pam needed as she began trailing her fingers down the same path her lips had just abandoned. But Pam had only just begun to toy with her when the unmistakable sound of Anthony's cry came bursting out of the monitor.

Harley's breath hitched and her back dropped from its arched position as Pamela laid her head down on the blonde's chest in defeat. "I'm starting to hate that kid." She mumbled.

"You are not…" Harleen chuckled, trying to get her heartrate down. "And anyway, I'm the one who got screwed here."

"No, you didn't." Pam grinned against the smooth skin beneath her. "That's the problem."

Harleen sighed as the cries began to escalate. "I'll get him."

"No," Pam raised her head. "It's the least I can do. I'll be right back."

The blonde smirked as she pulled the sheets up tighter around her, watching Pam get out of bed and pull on a robe. "Fine. I'll just be waiting here…frustrated…"

The redhead raised a questioning eyebrow. "I'm sorry, do we need a refresher on whose idea it was to have a kid in the first place?"

Harleen was clearly displeased with her wife's lackadaisical pace (and the valid point she'd just made). "Can you please go make sure our son isn't dying?"

Pam offered one more haughty look before exiting the bedroom towards the nursery one door over. She sighed when she entered the room and saw Anthony standing up in his crib, tears rolling down his face.

"Mama!" He sobbed, holding up his arms to her.

Pamela's heart instantly felt heavy with guilt and she crossed quickly over to his crib. "Come here, Baby." She picked him up and he curled into her chest, wrapping his arms around her neck and holding fast.

His sobs turned to sniffles as she gently rocked him before his breathing returned to normal and Pam sat down with him on the chair in the corner.

"What's the matter?" She whispered into his ear when he wouldn't loosen his grip. He was not yet a year, and as a result, could really only articulate "mama" and a series of other sounds that could be interpreted as words if the listener was generous. She still asked, though. He seemed to like her voice. Pam could feel him relax in her arms as she spoke and he responded by lifting his head to look at her.

She wiped the tears from his face and planted a kiss on his forehead before sighing and leaning back in the chair, looking at him where he sat upright in her lap, holding his hands so he didn't fall backwards. "I love you," Pam whispered. She smiled at how similar his eyes were to Harley's, and how his bottom lip pouted just like hers. Then she gripped his hands a bit tighter and focused, sending an identical message ( _I love you_ ) through the green. The result was instantaneous. Anthony ripped his hands away from his mother's and clamped them over his ears.

Ivy was surprised, to say the least. She'd been working on communicating with him through those channels nearly every night since they brought him home, but this was the first time he'd reacted in any measurable way. His eyes were wide and he looked…scared, honestly. So Pam repeated the phrase, saying "I love you" audibly. Hoping to communicate that what she was vocalizing was the same whether he heard it with his ears or he heard it in his head.

Anthony leaned forward until he fell onto Pam's chest once more, tucking his head into her neck. She could feel his little heart beat and she was again reminded of just how perfect he was. Her creation. Her child. Her miracle.

Harleen was dozing when she came back into their bedroom, still holding Anthony in her arms, but she woke up when Pam placed him in the bed and crawled in after.

The blonde didn't question the action, just pulled the blanket up around Anthony's neck and wrapped her arm around him where he was sandwiched between she and Pam. "Why was he fussing?" She asked.

Pam sighed as she lay her head down on her pillow. "I think he can hear."

Harleen would have giggled had she not been so tired. "Well I'd hope so…"

"I mean he can hear me." Pam clarified, her simple sentence loaded with meaning. "And I think he can hear them, too."


	5. Chapter 5

"Damien!" Selina shouted from where she sat on the park bench to where Bruce's son was perched atop the play structure. "You have to keep your hands to yourself, dude. We don't hit our friends."

"You're not my mom!" He shouted back.

"Charming," Selina rolled her eyes, turning her attention back her to Harleen. "Either I kill him, or he's going to lead me to drink again, I swear to God."

Harleen took a sip of her coffee. "I'm not sure murder is the best solution…"

"Then what do you suggest?" The brunette asked, tossing her now empty to-go cup into the trash can a few feet away.

"Umm…parenting?" Harleen suggested.

"I'm sorry, did you not just hear him?" Selina asked. "Hey, Damien!" She called back over to the boy. "Who's your mom?"

"Not you!" Was his immediate reply.

Harleen tried not to laugh, but… "Just be the adult, Selina. Whether he likes it or not, he lives in your house."

The brunette scoffed. "What an adorable notion. And anyway, Mother of The Year, where's your kid?"

Harley's first survey of the playground was calm, but when she couldn't locate her son, she shot up to her feet. "Anthony?"

Selina stood up too, but not quite as aggressively. "Damien, where's Anthony?"

Silently, Damien pointed across the park to the tree line just before the road.

"Harleen." Selina got her attention. "One: he's over there. And two: I'm pretty sure people who need wheelchairs don't just stand up."

Horrified, the blonde glanced downwards and found that she was, indeed, standing, her wheelchair a few feet behind her. It was too late to fix that now, so she started at a sprint over to where Anthony was standing alone, watching the cars pass by through the trees.

Harleen grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around and finding his face was soaked with tears. Her nervous anger instantly gave way to concern and she knelt down in front of him. "What are you doing over here?"

His bottom lip quivered. "They said to come play."

"Who did?" The worry was evident in Harley's voice.

"The…" Anthony, now 3 years old, was having a difficult time articulating his answer. "The...the inside guys." He tapped his head with his palm, and then did it again, harder this time. And again and again before Harleen grabbed his arm once more and stopped him from taking another swing.

"Honey, no…don't do that." Harleen urged, gently massaging his arms where she gripped him.

"They said they needed my help, Mama. They said somebody was being mean." Anthony stared down at his shoes.

"Ant," Harleen began, putting her hand under his chin and lifting his eyes up to meet hers. "Do these 'inside guys' sound like Mom? Do you hear them out here," she tapped her ear, "or in here?" she moved to her temple.

Hesitantly, he reached out and gently poked her temple.

"OK…" Harleen nodded slowly. "So you know how sometimes Mom talks to you in your head? Does it sound like that?"

"But it's not Mom!" Anthony began to cry in earnest again.

"Shh…it's OK, Bud." Harleen stood up and lifted him off the ground, holding him to her hip as she drew her phone out of her pocket. She called Pam 5 times and each one went to voicemail _. She must be in a meeting_.

/

"And we're sure the headpiece is a necessary aspect of the ensemble?" Poison Ivy questioned.

Batman nodded. "Unless you're familiar with the engineering of extraterrestrial explosives…"

Ivy grimaced as she loaded the camera and helmet onto her head and fastened the straps. "Happy?"

"Very much so." Hal Jordan chuckled.

Ivy decided to ignore the Lantern, as he really wasn't even worthy of her attention, so she instead directed her question at Batman. "Remind me why I'm doing this again?"

"We don't have time to bring in the hazmats." Batman told her as he booted up the live stream so he could see through the camera Ivy was wearing.

"Fine." Ivy smoothed her hands down her body suit, adjusting her gloves for no other reason than to dispel with any nervous energy before Batman could detect it in her. "Let's go, I don't have all day."

Green Lantern deposited her about 50 feet from the device. The area had already been cleared, so there weren't any civilians, just abandoned storefronts.

"Do you have any idea how much healthier the planet would be if it actually looked like this?" Ivy asked as she approached.

 _"_ _23%, Ivy."_ Batman reminded her through her earpiece. _"Emissions are down 23% and we didn't have to kill anybody."_

"Well, sure, if you'd rather settle for mediocrity…" Ivy stopped a few steps short of where the explosive was strapped to the side of a building. "Can you see it?"

 _"_ _Yes."_ Batman confirmed. _"Give us a second."_

Ivy sighed, crossing her arms and making sure the camera stayed pointed at the target. A few minutes of silence passed. "Have you at least determined the planetary origin?"

 _"…_ _Patience."_ Batman intoned.

Poison Ivy took a step forward, hoping to get a better look at it herself, but as she did, the display changed colors, from neon green to red. "Any idea what that means?" She asked.

 _"_ _Pamela, back up!"_

She felt her head slam back against something hard before she could react. With a groan of pain, she realized she was on the ground and that her vision was glazed over.

 _"_ _Ivy!"_

She shook her head, trying to do away with some of the mental fog the blow had caused, but soon realized that not all of it was in her head. There was actual smoke rising from her body. She was covered in a green gelatinous substance that was rapidly dissolving her suit.

 _"_ _What is it?"_ Batman asked, watching from the first person view as it ate away at the fabric on Ivy's body.

"I'm not sure…" Ivy attempted to focus. "An enzyme of some sort."

 _"_ _Are you immune?"_

"Yes, evidently. But this suit isn't, so you're going to have to cut the live feed."

/

"Harl," Pam greeted as she closed the front door behind her. "I think I've compiled a definitive ranking for the Lanterns.

Silence.

Pam frowned, checking her watch and setting her keys down in the bowl.

"Harleen?" She tried again, walking into the living room to find she and Anthony asleep on the couch, Harley's arm pulled tight around him. Toys were strewn around the room…Ivy almost had a heart attack when she saw a potted plant knocked over on its side. "Harleen," she repeated, in a harsh whisper this time.

The blonde slowly opened her eyes. "Hey…" she said, groggily. "You didn't answer your phone."

"I left it here this morning since I wasn't going into the office." Pam explained.

"Oh," Harley sat up slowly, careful not to wake Anthony. "What the heck are you wearing?"

"What?" Pam looked down at her pink crop-top and jean shorts. "Oh, right…It's been an interesting day. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, we had an interesting day too…" Harley rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "We went to the park with Damien and Selina, and then Anthony proceeded to throw basically a day-long tantrum."

That didn't sound like Anthony. He was usually a pretty mild-mannered kid. Pam gently brushed the bangs back off his forehead and saw that his face was, indeed, red and puffy from tears.

"He said he was hearing voices, Pam." Harleen continued. "And…I don't know…what if it's my kind of voices and not yours?"

Pam shook her head, combing her fingers through his hair. "I don't think you have to worry about that, Harl."

"What makes you so sure?" The blonde wanted to know.

"The problem is, his connection to the green isn't strong enough for him to respond to their cries." Pam explained. "He hears their suffering, but he is powerless against what's ailing them." She began to gently shake him awake before Harley could protest.

"Mom? Are you home?" Anthony asked, his eyes still closed.

Pam smiled, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "I am, and I need you to come somewhere with me."

He was fully awake now, gazing up at her. "OK."

Harley looked questioningly at Pam as she helped Anthony off of the couch and followed as Pam picked him up and exited through the back door, walking across the yard.

With a wave of her hand, Pam directed a vine on the other side of the greenhouse door to unlatch it for them.

"Mom…I don't wanna be in here…" Anthony complained, wrapping his arms tighter around her neck and hiding his face against her shoulder. "It's too loud."

A chill ran up Harleen's spine, but Pam's expression remained the same as she nodded sagely. "Anthony, what's your favorite room in the house?"

"My room." The words were muffled against his mother's skin.

"Why?" Pam asked

"Cuz all my toys live there." He told her.

Pam smiled. "Well…this is my favorite room because all my friends live here and they always have a lot to say."

Anthony detached himself slightly, clearly confused. "Who are your friends?"

"Do you know what this is?" Pam asked him, referring to a large blossom pinker than her shirt.

He looked. "Flower."

Pam laughed. "That's right, but do you know what kind of flower?"

"Flower." Anthony repeated like she hadn't heard him correctly the first time.

Pam grinned, looking over her shoulder at Harleen. "He's so sure I almost want that to be the complete answer." Harley giggled and Pam turned her attention back to the task at hand. "It's a chrysanthemum. Can you say chrysanthemum?"

Anthony shook his head.

"You're not even going to try?" Harley asked.

He shook his head again, his bottom lip pouting in trademark Quinzel style.

"Well…" Pam pulled them back on track, forfeiting that particular battle for now. "All of these flowers in here, all of my friends, have a lot to say, but, unfortunately, not many people can hear them."

"How come?" Anthony asked.

Pam shrugged. "You have to be very special."

Anthony furrowed his brow. "Are the flowers the inside guys?"

Confused, Pam looked to Harley for confirmation. She nodded, so Pam told him "yes."

"Can you hear them?" The boy asked.

"I can."

"Can Mama hear them?"

Harley came to stand next to him, taking his hand in hers and shaking her head. "I'm not special enough Just you and Mom."

Tears began to well up in his eyes again. "No, Mama, you are special!"

"I know that, Kiddo." His distress was so adorable Harleen had to fight the urge to take a picture. "I'm just special in different ways. Mom's plants don't like me all that much."

"They like you just fine." Pam guaranteed.

Anthony mulled that over for a moment. "But why are your friends always sad?"

"Are the friends in here sad?" Pam asked.

Anthony closed his eyes to listen. They weren't crying like the others. They were singing.

 _"_ _See? Flowers are just like people. Sometimes they're sad, sometimes they're happy."_ His mother's voice wove its way into his head.

"But—but then why were they hurting?" Anthony asked.

Pam sighed, leaning in to rest her forehead against his. "Because humans can be cruel, Sweetpea."

"But you don't have to be scared." Harley assured him, placing her hand on his back. "That's our job, OK?"

30 minutes later, after two read-throughs of _The Giving Tree_ , Harleen had him tucked into bed. Pam was changing into a nightshirt when the blonde joined her in their bedroom.

"Oh, I don't fucking think so." Harley said, stopping her before she could get the crop-top all the way over her head. "You owe me an explanation for that craziness." She indicted Pamela's fashion statement.

"There was an accident today." Pam told her, a bit of annoyance in her tone as she let the fabric fall back into place. "My suit did not take kindly to a foreign substance, and so my suit is no more."

"But that suit has been around longer than our marriage!" Harleen was clearly upset.

Pam raised an eyebrow. "Umm…the extraterrestrial enzyme was exceedingly apologetic?"

"Well, good! It should be." Harleen huffed, plopping down on the bed. "But my question is about the California beach babe aesthetic."

"Kara was the only woman with a change of clothes at the Watchtower." Pam explained. "Kara is, by all accounts, a California beach babe." A wide smile spread over Harleen's face then, which Pamela took to mean she was now permitted to change.

"Wait a minute, Supergirl…" Harley grinned, walking on her knees to the foot of the bed and looping her fingers into the waistband of Pam's shorts, pulling her closer. "I've never had a Kyptonian before…"

"Well," Pamela leaned in, whispering lasciviously: "Since I'm not a Kryptonian, I don't see that changing tonight."

Harley pushed her away, "Boo, Pam. You're no fun."

The redhead sighed affectionately. "Harleen…would you like to wear an alien's jean shorts?"

"Oh thank God!" Harley immediately snapped out of her pout. "I thought you'd never ask." She roughly unbuttoned them, stripping the garment off of Pam's legs in record time. "It just makes more sense with the hair and all that."

"Mhm…sure…" Pamela wasn't opposed to humoring her.

Harley looked up expectantly. "I'm going to need the shirt, too."


	6. Chapter 6

Dr. Joan Leland entered the Baby Gap late on a Saturday morning. It was her granddaughter's birthday, and even though she knew the girl's mother already spoiled her, it was a grandmother's duty to do the same.

The world was currently going through a superhero obsession, and her granddaughter was no exception to the craze. But Joan cringed when she asked her daughter who the girl's favorite was and the answer was "Poison Ivy". When Joan tried to remind her daughter that Poison Ivy was a psychopath and not exactly a great role model for little girls, her daughter replied with an annoyed, "I don't know what to tell you, Mom. She thinks she's pretty. She likes her hair, and she likes flowers, OK?"

So now here Dr. Leland was…buying her granddaughter merchandise modeled after a mass murderer who also happened to be a former patient. It was odd. Joan used to feel proud about the work she'd done with Ivy. How Ivy had successfully reformed. But now it was like the world was on Ivy overload. You couldn't walk two blocks without seeing a giant billboard of her or watch an hour of TV without seeing her in an ad. Joan wasn't sure if the Justice League was pushing the environmentalist angle this hard to placate Ivy, or because they actually believed in its importance…but either way, Poison Ivy was like a ghost from Joan's past that she couldn't seem to shake.

There was a family in the next aisle over. Joan could hear the wheels of a stroller or something similar being pushed across the wood floor and their attempt at hushed chatter was carrying through the rack of clothes.

"No, I wanna push Mama." A little boy's voice came.

"Honey…" a clearly frustrated woman began with a sigh. "You've already crashed her twice."

"I'm a big boy, I can do it!" He protested.

"He just wants to be helpful." A second woman attempted to appeal.

"But that's just it," the first woman responded, her voice a bit harsher now, and familiar somehow… "He's not being helpful. Knocking over the displays is not helpful, it's stressful."

"Mom, I won't crash again, OK? Pinky swear." Judging from the boy's speech patterns and tone of voice, Joan guessed he was about 4 years old. Cute age, but tough age, especially for boys.

The first woman acquiesced: "Fine." Joan heard a gentle smack of lips which she guessed was the boy receiving a kiss on the cheek. "Be gentle, please. It hurts Mama when you knock her into stuff."

Joan smiled, but the clacking of heels stopped her snooping, reminding her of the task at hand. Superheroes, superheroes…she rid herself of the distraction and scanned the aisles until she found what she was looking for. The sections were divided into "boys" and "girls", and the girls' side was considerably more pink, which was odd seeing as how Joan couldn't think of a single female superhero that wore pink other than Starfire, and she couldn't imagine her merchandise being very popular.

Joan rolled her eyes at the "Super, Girl!" graphic t-shirt that included a print of Supergirl giving the 'thumbs-up'. She walked past the pink Wonder Woman stuff and over to the Gotham Heroes section, which included a red Batwoman option, as well as a yellow or powder blue Batgirl variation. Joan grabbed the yellow one in the hopes of promoting a more appropriate hero.

She groaned out loud when she spotted the Poison Ivy stuff. "Pretty Poison", "Kiss Me" …these weren't shirts kids should be wearing. Clacking heels approached and came to stand beside her. Before Joan could turn and look, the owner of the heels was groaning as well.

"So fucking stupid." The woman mumbled. And then she addressed Joan: "Can you believe th—" her voice trailed off, and Joan turned—curious—until she saw who it was.

Poison Ivy—the real one—was staring at her dumbly. Joan didn't speak either. She couldn't. She hadn't seen this woman in person in about 18 years. But yet, here she was, standing in a Baby Gap, barely even disguised in pedestrian clothes. Joan had assumed she would at least wear a wig or colored contacts now that she was attempting to maintain a secret identity. Although her skin did look tanned and altogether human rather than her usual emerald coloring, so maybe that was enough to throw people off the scent.

Joan didn't know how long they'd been looking at each other, but the silence was broken when a little boy bounded over and flung himself around Ivy's legs. "Mom, can I get s'more Flash stuff?"

Dr. Leeland blinked, then her gaze shifted down to the boy. He was wearing darkly washed jeans over bright red sneakers that matched his argyle sweater vest. His button down was a pretty shade of periwinkle that brought out the bright blue of his wide eyes and highlighted the auburn hair that fell in soft curls on his head. Honestly, the boy looked like he'd materialized out of one of the store posters, he was so perfect.

"Mom?" He tugged on Ivy's blouse, pulling it out from where it was tucked into her jeans.

"I told him yes, but no Reverse Flash stuff. I think it sends the wrong message to—" The woman approaching in the wheelchair now trailed off as well, having come close enough to realize who Joan was. It was Harleen. Of course it was Harleen.

"D-Doctor Leeland!" The blonde stammered from her chair. "What are you—I didn't—it's been a while, huh?"

Joan nodded slowly, looking from Harleen to the boy hanging off of Poison Ivy's leg. Those were Harleen's wide blue eyes she saw in his face.

The boy was now looking back at Joan, regarding her curiously, critically, even. "Mama, who is that lady?"

"Anthony…" Harleen cleared her throat. "This—uh—this is my boss, Joan."

"This is your son?" Joan asked. She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it anyway. From the primary source.

Harleen nodded. "Anthony. Yes. And this is…" She looked over at Ivy who hadn't moved- her posture or her expression. "This is my wife."

Joan wasn't exactly sure why she wasn't completely surprised. Maybe she'd just spent too many years talking to the mentally ill. Maybe her perception of what was and wasn't acceptable or plausible was distorted. And she'd wanted this for Pamela, right? Or else why had she spent 12 years treating her? Why had she signed off on Harleen's sanity plea for her? All that time, all that effort…and now here she was, looking normal and healthy in jeans and a blouse with her son wrapped around her leg, helping her paralyzed wife through the department store.

So maybe seeing she and Harleen together didn't surprise Joan, but what she—herself—did was certainly unexpected. Joan turned her attention to Ivy and held out her cellphone. "My granddaughter is turning six today. You are her favorite hero…could you…record a message for her?"

Pamela studied her for a moment, both cautiously and critically, just like her son had, before reaching out and taking the phone. "What's her name?" Ivy asked as she opened the camera function.

"Layla." Joan told her.

Ivy nodded and exited the store, Joan assumed in search of a place where she could revert back to her usual skin color.

Harleen was staring into her lap. She looked good, though. Healthy, which was a relief to Joan. By her calculations, Harleen was in her early 40s by now—although she didn't look it—which made Joan feel very old indeed. They spoke on the phone occasionally, but hadn't really seen each other since Harleen resigned, which was...well, 4 years ago, she supposed. Joan knew Harleen had been married some years ago, but they rarely discussed their personal lives. Joan hadn't even thought to ask if she'd married a man or a woman, and certainly not whether she'd married a supervillain.

"Did you know my Mama when she was little like me?" The boy—Anthony—asked.

Joan was a bit surprised, not at the question itself, but at being asked one. There was a fascinating confidence within the boy that Joan found endearing. "No, I did not. How high can you count?"

"Thirty." Anthony announced proudly.

"Oh…" Joan was beginning to smile despite herself. "You must be a very smart boy, then."

Anthony nodded emphatically. "Mom says I'm the smartest boy she ever knew."

Joan almost laughed. This little boy had no way of knowing that was just a way for Poison Ivy to sneak in a slight on the male sex. Joan had quickly deduced that Harleen was referred to as "Mama" while Ivy—or, Pamela—was "Mom". "She was 26 when I met her." Joan told him.

"I can count to 26." Anthony informed her.

Joan remembered Harleen, fresh out of medical school, the prettiest thing most of those patients at Arkham had ever seen. She'd strolled in that first day with her tight skirt and heels…Joan had nearly laughed at the naivety. And then the young woman had surprised her by walking right up to Poison Ivy's cell and snapping back at her taunts.

…oh…

Joan realized she'd never seen Ivy show legitimate affection for anyone, maybe that's why she couldn't tell the difference.

Joan was roused from her thoughts by a tap on the arm. Ivy was back, and holding her phone out to her.

"There you go." Ivy said, glancing around somewhat nervously. Joan could tell she didn't want to be spotted, but she must have been feeling pretty safe not to disguise herself further.

It was so truly bizarre seeing Poison Ivy like this. Dr. Leeland was, honestly, having a difficult time wrapping her head around it. Around any of it. Poison Ivy had married her doctor and they were now raising a child together? That's insane! Almost as insane as Poison Ivy was. But, strangely, all that came from Joan's mouth in response was "Thank you."

The three woman stood there in silence, Harleen still looking into her lap like a schoolgirl who'd been caught passing notes. Not even Anthony moved for those moments. No one did, until Harleen reached her hand out and took Ivy's in hers, finally raising her gaze to look Joan in the eye.

"It's really good to see you, Joan." Harley said. "Isn't it, Paula?"

Ivy nodded subtly. "But you didn't really see us, did you, Joan?"

"But, Mom…" Anthony protested. "We're right here. We're not ghosts."

"Brilliant observation," Pamela said, distractedly, her focus remaining fixed on her former doctor.

Leeland cleared her throat. "Wonderful to meet you, Paula. Anthony." She gave the boy one last smile before walking past them, towards the checkout counter where she paid hastily before heading out the door.

Joan didn't take a deep breath until she'd made it to her car. For 12 years Poison Ivy had been her patient. For 15 years Harleen had been her employee. Arkham was Dr. Leeland's Asylum. She was the head psychiatrist and she hadn't known one of her doctors had married a former patient.

With a sigh, she checked her watch and realized her shame spiraling was going to make her late to the party, so she put her car in gear and headed out.

The smell of pizza hit her the second Joan opened the door.

"Mom? That you?" Her daughter's voice carried from the kitchen.

"It's me." Joan hung her coat up and made her way into the kitchen. She gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek and smiled.

"Gift?" The young woman asked.

Joan held up the bag in her hand as proof. "Where's Layla?"

"Living room." Her daughter told her as she bent over to take one of the pizzas out of the oven.

Layla was on the couch watching some cartoons when Joan entered. "Hey, Sweetie. Happy birthday."

The girl smiled broadly. "Hi, Grandma."

"I—I have a surprise for you." Joan said, sitting down next to her. "Someone very special would like to wish you a happy birthday."

Layla looked at her curiously and took her phone, waiting as Joan leaned over and pressed play.

Poison Ivy showed up on screen with her distinctive green complexion. Joan felt the girl's body tense beside her.

"Hey, Layla." Ivy was smiling pleasantly at the camera. "I'm not sure if you know who I am…"

"Poison Ivy," Layla breathed.

"But an old friend of mine told me that it was your birthday today, is that true?"

"Yes," Layla replied, excitedly, like she was watching Dora the Explorer.

"Well if it is, then I hope you have a very happy birthday, and if I really am your favorite hero, then I must say, you have excellent taste." Ivy winked.

Joan watched as Layla grinned.

"Evidently, you're turning six, which may be a bit too young to become a member of the Justice League, but you're never too young to be a part of my army of environmental warriors. Anyone can be a hero for Mother Nature."

"I always recycle." Layla whispered.

"When I was six years old, my favorite toy was a magnifying glass." Ivy informed the camera. "I'm not sure what yours is, but that magnifying glass helped me learn a lot about the world. It helped me answer questions that I didn't even think to ask. See, before I became 'Poison Ivy', I was just a girl named Pamela who wanted to be a different kind of hero: one that wore a lab coat, not a cape. I was a scientist. And anyone can become that kind of hero if they're curious enough. So Layla, happy birthday, and I sincerely hope you keep asking questions." Ivy ended the video by blowing a kiss.

Layla slowly turned to Joan, eyes wide with amazement. "Grandma, how do you know Poison Ivy?!"

Dr. Leeland had no choice but to laugh. "Like she said, we're…old friends."


	7. Chapter 7

"Mama, why do I get ice cream?" Anthony asked as he skipped down the sidewalk.

Harleen was pushing herself as Pamela was preoccupied on her cellphone. "Because you were patient in the store and Mom and I have something very important to tell you."

"Is it a secret?" Anthony wondered.

"No." Pam mumbled, now typing furiously.

"Mom!" Anthony yelled, suddenly, startling Pam into dropping her phone on the pavement, cracking the screen. He was pointing above their heads at a building across the street. "Look! It's you!"

Pam glanced up at the billboard, narrowed her eyes, and then smashed her heel down on the broken cellphone in frustration.

Harleen and Anthony both stopped to stare at her. Wordlessly, Pam snatched Harley's phone from the purse hanging off her wheelchair, murmuring "I need to use this."

"Mom, why are you mad?"

"Grown-up stuff." Pam answered curtly, dialing a number and holding the phone to her ear as she walked away. "Four typos? What the fuck, Harold?"

Anthony's eyes widened "She is so grumpy."

Harleen had to laugh. "Honey, can you pick that up?" She indicated the broken cellphone. "Nothing makes Mom grumpier than littering."

The boy nodded ardently, picking up the splintered device and placing it in Harley's purse. "I just wanted to show her the pretty picture…"

"I don't think that's what she's mad about, Bud." Harleen assured him. "But what's our deal?"

Anthony stared down at his sneakers. "Mom's big pictures are secrets that only we get to know."

"That's right." Harleen nodded. "Now I don't know about you, but I need some ice cream in me like—yesterday."

She let him order for both of them which resulted in two pistachio cones…not exactly Harleen's first choice, but she knew that he'd chosen it because it was green, and he was likely hoping it would help put Pam in a better mood. So Harley ate it all the same, wiping Anthony's face every other lick because, for the life of him, he could not manage to keep his cone from dripping. He just didn't understand the concept of equal attention.

…Maybe because most of Anthony's attention was focused outside the window where Pam was speaking animatedly into Harleen's phone. Harley could tell he was nervous about Pam's mood. Yes, she did still get angry, she still had a temper, but for the most part she was able to have the self-awareness to remove herself from Anthony's presence at least before she allowed it to truly flare. Harold, a paralegal at her firm, was evidently not as lucky. Harley felt a little bad, but at the same time was just relieved Pam's frustration wasn't being directed at her.

When Pam finally sat down with them inside the parlor, Harleen had already finished her ice cream and was contemplating throwing Anthony's away for melted it was.

"Look, Mom!" Anthony exclaimed, shoving the mess in Pam's face. "It's like the polar ice caps!"

Harleen bit her lip to starve off a laugh and tried to read Pam's reaction.

The redhead looked at the melted cone and then at her son's proud expression at his analogy. "An apt assessment."

Anthony grinned, turning back to Harleen. "Mama, I am done eating this now." He stated resolutely.

"OK," Harley giggled, taking the sticky mass from his hand and dropping it in the trash can behind her. "But if you're never going to finish it, why do you always make me get you the big one?"

"Because it tastes better," Anthony told her like it was obvious.

To Harleen's relief, Pam was smirking now. "That's ridiculous."

"Nuh uh!" Anthony turned on her.

"Woah, woah, woah." Harley gave him a stern look. "Cool your jets, Mr. Attitude. We already have our designated grumpy goose today."

Pamela slid the phone she'd borrowed across the table, fixing Harleen with a look as she did so. "I have never been less attracted to you than in this moment." She mumbled.

Harleen wrinkled her nose at the other woman, slipping the phone back into her purse before placing her hand gently on Anthony's arm. "So…we have some exciting news."

"You're going to have a sister." Pam told him.

Anthony cocked his head as the information sunk in. His question, when he finally did ask one, was: "Who?"

Harleen laughed. "Well we haven't met her yet. So, we don't know."

Anthony looked a bit lost. "Will she live with us?"

"Yes…" Pamela confirmed, watching him curiously.

"But—but how do you know she's nice?" He asked. "If you haven't met her yet, how do you know it will be good for her to live with us?"

Harleen cursed herself for not having recorded this. "Well…You, me and Mom have to make sure she grows up to be nice. That's our job. That's your job, as her big brother."

Anthony crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair and regarding both women critically. "Will she be a baby?"

Harleen nodded.

"Will I get to hold her?"

Harleen grinned. "Definitely."

"What will her name be?"

She shrugged. "Maybe you can help us figure that out."

/

"Drop it."

Riddler whirled around to find Batwoman standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unimpressed.

"Didn't I drop you off at Arkham last week?" She asked, tapping her foot.

"Bigger than the biggest animal, than a feather I am lighter, though at night I take my flight." Riddler said, a sly smile stretching his lips. "What am I?"

Batwoman groaned, she didn't have the patience for this song and dance tonight. _At night I take my flight…_ "A shadow." She decided.

His smile collapsed, disheartened at her correct answer. Without warning, he flicked his cane out and struck her across her face.

"Motherf—" Batwoman angrily grabbed the cane as he retracted it and used it to pull him closer, ramming him into her foot as she kicked him hard in the gut, forcing him to double over. She uppercut swiftly, landing a blow to his neck, causing him to choke and sputter as she finished him off with another kick to the chest. She stood over him. "A man rides into town on Friday. Three days later, he leaves, also on Friday. How?"

"The—the horse's name is—is Friday." Riddler wheezed, clutching his stomach where he lay in a fetal position on the ground.

"Wrong!" Batwoman said, handcuffing him. "Time machine, bitch."

/

Light was just beginning to seep into the city when Harleen stumbled up the stairs. She unceremoniously kicked off her shoes as she entered her bedroom, pulling her jacket off and her jeans down, tossing them both into the corner.

Pamela was curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, in a very similar position as Riddler had been in earlier that night. Harleen wondered how many times Batman had seen her like that…in pain…ready to be carted off to Arkham. Harley wondered if she would have done the same, had circumstances been different. Had Ivy not signed the contract. Had she remained a villain.

But Harleen didn't want to think about that, not now, anyway. She was sore and her face had just barely stopped bleeding. She didn't even want to look in the mirror, knowing the swelling would already be ugly. Instead, she grabbed Pam's ankles, pulling her legs straight so that she could crawl up into her arms.

She hummed contentedly, nuzzling her face into Pam's neck and breathing deeply, smiling at the pleasantness of the floral aroma compared to the smells she'd encountered in the bowels of Gotham's back alleys. She knew she should just go to bed, Anthony would be up soon and he wasn't so into naps these days, but she just couldn't resist kissing the warm skin in front of her.

Pam shifted slightly as Harley scooted up on the bed so that she could kiss her lips as well.

"Mmm…you smell like a sewer." Pam murmured against her lips.

"Funny you should say that…" Harleen smiled sleepily.

Pam's eyelids fluttered open and she frowned as she took in the sight before her, although with Harley pressed so close to her, it was hardly a revealing vantage point. "Daffodil…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know." Harleen attempted to brush off her concern by peppering kisses along her jawline. "I'll take care of it in a bit."

"No," Pam sighed, dethatching herself from the other woman. "That needs to be closed up."

"Can't you just lick it better?" Harley asked, rolling onto her back to watch Pam get out of bed.

"Firstly: that's not an actual thing." Pam told her from the bathroom as she searched for the first aid kit. "And second: why would I want to lick your open wound? Yes, I'm impervious to bacteria, but that's disgusting, frankly. I mean, honestly, even if my saliva did contain some magical power of coagulation, why wouldn't I bottle it?"

"Well what is that stuff made out of then, if not your spit?" Harleen asked, gently dabbing at the gash in her cheek to see if the bleeding had resumed.

"Nothing derived from my physiology." Pam informed her, climbing back onto the bed, first aid kit in hand. "What happened?" She asked as she began to clean the wound.

Harleen winced slightly at the stinging of the alcohol. "I wasn't really paying attention and Riddler whacked me in the face with his cane."

Pam said something under her breath that Harley couldn't quite make out as she began to press down harder with the alcohol wipes.

"Hey, ow!" The blonde complained.

"Sorry…" Pam mumbled, applying her blood-clotting ointment to the open wound before clamping the skin together with butterfly bandages. She then took Harley's face in her hands and examined her handiwork. Seemingly satisfied, she readied an icepack and placed it delicately on the epicenter of the swelling on Harley's cheek.

"Thanks," Harley replaced Pam's hand with her own and held the ice pack to her face, watching the other woman as she closed up the kit once more. "Hey," Pam wouldn't make eye contact with her. "Hey." She repeated, sitting up. "What's wrong."

"Nothing," The redhead murmured. "I know you can take care of yourself."

And Harleen understood. They were returning to the reverberating effects of Pamela's possessiveness. There were many ways a psychologist could approach this particular character trait of Pam's in relation to Harley. They could say that it was Pamela's need for control that drove her to worry for her wife's well-being. They could say it was because Harley was her toy and Pam didn't like when other people played with and broke her without permission…and sure, Dr. Quinzel acknowledged those avenues, incorporated them into her diagnosis and treatment, but it wasn't what Harleen believed in her heart of hearts. If that was it, then why was she here? For an extended case study? Dr. Quinzel could have conducted that without the romantic entanglement. No, she truly did love Pamela. She was, at this point, dependent on her, and so she had to believe that the foundation of Pam's possessiveness was rooted in a dedicated affection, and more specifically, rooted in fear of again being devoid of that affection.

Harleen cleared her throat. "Thank you."

"For what?" Pam asked, her eyes focusing on the patterns of the comforter below her fingers.

"For trusting me," Harley answered with a smile, taking the other woman's hand and lifting it gently to her lips.

Many people assumed that because they'd been married so long, their routine had become monotonous or their interest diminished, but the truth was, they hadn't been married to this version of each other for all that long. Harleen was paralyzed at the time of their wedding, and spent the next six years in that chair as a much different human being than she was today. Temperamentally and psychologically speaking, of course. And Harley's attitude had forced Pamela to adjust as well, assuming the role of the doting wife, the emotional support system. But now that Harleen had moved on and was faced with a drastically different future than what she'd envisioned the night that gun went off, Pam had adjusted again, finding a place somewhere in between Pamela and Ivy where she could exist fulfilled. Anthony had changed their marriage too, and now that they were bringing a little girl into the world in a month's time, there simply wasn't room for monotony. It was a learning process, all of it. Every day filled with teachable moments.

Which reminded her…

"Do you know what day it is?" Harley asked, changing the subject, seemingly to Pam's relief even though it soon became abundantly clear she had no idea what day it was. "It's September 11th." Harley reminded her.

"My condolences to the country." Pam answered in a safe and generic response. She still didn't quite understand how to gauge the correct emotional response to human tragedies she, herself, had no stake in.

"Oh, come on. Seriously? Again?" Harleen wished she didn't find things like this so frustrating. "It's my birthday, Pam."

The redhead cringed slightly, biting her lip in a show of mild embarrassment.

Harleen sighed. "I guess fixing my face was an alright gift…"

Apparently deciding she was done with the uncomfortable situation, Pam got off the bed and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom, turning the shower on as well.

The blonde rolled her eyes and flopped backwards. "Do you at least know how old I am today?"

"Yes…" Pamela affirmed in the voice she used to reserve for the victims of her seduction. "42."

Harley turned her head to see Poison Ivy standing in the doorway, completely nude with a confident smirk on her face. Harleen quirked an eyebrow, unable to hide her amusement as Pamela crossed over to the bed, slipping her arms around Harley's legs and back like she used to when Harley needed to be moved to and from her chair.

"Wait a minute…" Harley started, grinning widely as she was lifted off the bed. "Is my present shower sex?"

"That and a breakfast that Anthony has no part in making." Pam informed her, setting her down on the bathroom sink and removing her t-shirt for her.

"Aww, you do care!"

/

French Toast seemed the natural choice seeing as how they did not have the ingredients for pancakes or waffles.

"When's my birthday?" Anthony asked from where he was laying on his stomach, examining an action figure under his microscope.

"November," Harleen told him over the country music she had blasting from the record player. Pam had announced it was her day and Harley was trying to see how far she could push that. "Two months."

Anthony nodded, deciding responding verbally wasn't worth yelling over the music.

"Hey, Pam?" Harley asked as Dolly Parton's 'Jolene' came on. "What is this song supposed to mean to me if I'm married to Jolene?"

Pam carefully flipped the toast over in the pan. "I'm sorry?"

"Your beauty is beyond compare with flaming locks of auburn hair/ with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green…" Harleen sang along with the music, unapologetically off-key. "That's you, Babe!"

Pam laughed, but Harley continued.

"Your smile is like a breath of spring/ your voice is soft like summer rain…" She sat up straighter on the couch, watching Pam where she was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. "I'm serious, I think your parents really missed the boat naming you 'Pamela.'"

"Honey," Pam went over to slice some strawberries while she waited for the toast. "That song came out like 40 years after I was born."

"Well, now that it's out there, we can't make the same mistake with our kid." Harleen stated, resolutely. "I simply refuse to miss such a gigantic opportunity should she end up looking like you."

Pam just shook her head, chuckling, so Harleen turned to Anthony. "What do you think, Ant?"

"Name the baby like the song?" He asked, looking up at her. "Mama, 'Jolene' sounds like your name."

Harleen laughed. "Even better."


	8. Chapter 8

Pamela was going to cry. She could feel it. She was going to cry and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was passed the point of no return. The stakes were too high. The situation…unbearable.

…Jolene had been screaming, without even a hint of calming down, for the past hour and Pamela was about this close to flinging herself out the window.

Jo was far more human than plant. More so than even Anthony was, and so she was much more difficult for Pamela to soothe. In fact, it seemed an almost impossible feat at this point.

It was 3am, so Harleen was out working for Batman, leaving Pamela alone with the children. It started out fine. It always did. Harleen put Jo down while Pam read to Anthony, and then…that was it! That was supposed to be it! But it never was with Jolene. Every. Single. Night she woke up again, seemingly just as Harleen shut the door behind her, and cried, bawled, fussed. And it wasn't like with Anthony. There wasn't a reason behind it, it was just aimless noise. Aimless frustration and the powerlessness Pamela felt made her INSANE.

She had to walk her out to the greenhouse so that Anthony could sleep. Desperately, Pam paced back and forth, holding Jolene in her arms, bouncing her up and down, rocking her from side to side…and in those moments, when Jolene was the most distraught, Pamela couldn't even bring herself to look at her. Because her eyes were green. Bright green, and so Pam wasn't comforted or enamored by them. She couldn't look at them and think of Harley. In those eyes, all she saw was herself, and she wondered if her parents had gone through the same thing. If they'd spent a sleepless night up with her while she'd cried. In in those thoughts, Pamela always came to the heartbreaking realization that no, they'd probably just let her cry herself to sleep. Left her in a room all alone…

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…" Pam whispered over and over again into her daughter's ear, urgently needing to feel like a better parent than hers had been

Pamela wasn't going to cry because she wanted to sleep. She was going to cry because the girl's suffering was so upsetting to watch. She pressed her lips to Jo's forehead as a tear rolled down her cheek, and held them there as she shut her eyes tightly, enduring the girl's kicks and jerks.

The books assured them that this behavior didn't mean she was an unhappy baby. That it wasn't necessarily their fault…but how could Pamela look at this frustrated little thing in her arms and not blame herself? From what they'd observed thus far, Jolene was a child of extremes. She was either hysterical or beaming. There was no in between.

She was slowly calming down now, her crying more chokes than sobs at this point. And Pamela knew it was because she'd tired herself out and not because she'd been effectively soothed. That hurt.

Pam carried her back to the house in what felt like a walk of shame, clutching her tight to her chest the entire journey. When they returned to the bedroom, Pam couldn't bring herself to put Jo back in her crib. Instead, she let her sprawl out on she and Harleen's bed, hoping that her warmth beside her would somehow communicate to Jo that she wasn't alone in this world.

/

"Mama!" Anthony ran into his parent's bedroom, clearly upset. "Mama, you have to control your daughter."

Harleen laughed out loud as she was certain that was the funniest sentence ever to come out of a six-year-old's mouth. "What did she do this time?"

He was so angry not even his artificial coloring could cover the red in his cheeks. "She took my man!"

Harleen had to clamp her hand over her mouth.

"Honey…leave it…" Pam intoned from where she stood in front of the mirror, attempting to cover the bags under her eyes by augmenting her pigment.

"Which man?" Harley asked, controlling herself best she could.

"My Superman!" He stomped his foot.

Harleen knelt down in front of him, seemingly sympathetic. "Why'd she do it, Ant? Why'd she take your man? Just because she can?"

Anthony narrowed his eyes. "Mama…are you makin' fun of me?"

"Yes, Darling." Pam sighed, deciding she appeared adequately chipper. "That's exactly what she's doing." She passed by Harleen and Anthony where they stood near the doorway and headed for the room the children shared. She found the girl sitting on the floor, gnawing on Anthony's Superman action figure.

"Jo…" Pam pried the toy from her fingers. "No. You have your own toys. Plenty of them."

"That's right, Jolene." Harley seconded from where she now stood in the doorway. "You can have your choice of men."

"Harleen, I swear to Gaia…" Pam growled. "I'll be gone in 10 minutes; can you hold off on the Dolly Parton humor until then?"

"Absolutely not, Pamela. Life is simply too short." Harley grinned.

Pam rose back up to her feet. "You're a terrible person. You know that, right?"

"Actually…" Harleen scrunched up her face condescendingly, "My Gotham Humanitarian Award says otherwise."

"'Gotham humanitarian' is an oxymoron, like 'lead from behind' or 'Christian conservative'." She kissed Harley on the cheek. "Love you, though."

The blonde glared at her, but accepted the kiss none-the-less. "House warming party at Barbara's tonight. Tim is watching the kids."

"I don't think that's what Robins are for, Harl." Pam smirked.

/

Pamela passed her assistant in the hallway on the way to her office.

"Good morning, Ms. Irving." The woman greeted. "Umm…the top office left a message on my desk, Mr. Wayne would like to see you."

"Fuck me…" Pam groaned, causing the woman to blush and Pam to roll her eyes in response. "Humans…" she mumbled, handing the woman her briefcase and heading back to the elevator.

"Hello, Ms. Irving." Bruce's receptionist greeted pleasantly. "Can I interest you in a coffee? Perhaps a muffin?"

Normally Pam would just say no, but…she was tired to the point where every little thing annoyed her. "Cindy, look at me. Does it look like I eat muffins? Honestly, look at my body and tell me if there's any world in which you could conceive of me saying yes to 800 calories at 8am."

"I—uh—I didn't…" The woman stammered.

"Paula!" Bruce sounded like a man who'd been embarrassed by his drunk wife at a dinner party. "My office."

Pam offered Cindy a dazzling smile and a cutesy wave before following Bruce, and realizing he wasn't alone.

"No, hey, no." Was her immediate response to seeing Diana Prince and Clark Kent. "I have adhered to every single one of your ridiculous guidelines. I have participated in missions. I have followed the watch schedule…whatever this is, it's a set-up or it's bullshit because I have been a model league member."

Clark smiled his dopey mid-western smile that Ivy always wanted to punch off his handsome face. "Calm down, this isn't a disciplinary hearing."

"Have a seat." Bruce urged, gesturing to the stylish couch behind her.

Pam sighed, long and loud, making sure her annoyance was obvious, but did end up sitting down, crossing her legs neatly and smoothing down her skirt as she did.

Bruce leaned back against his desk as Diana took a seat across from Ivy. "You do not age," she said in her accented English. "You will not die. Like me, you are immortal."

Pamela certainly hadn't expected that to be the first question. "As long as plant life survives on this Earth, so will I." She told them.

Her statement was evidently affirming something for Clark, because he was nodding and taking a folder from Bruce's desk. "As you know…" he started, "many of our metahuman members are in a similar situation, their aging is slowed to at least some degree, me included." He handed Pam the folder and she eyed it warily. "The public generally understands and accepts this concept when we're in costume, but our civilian identities are another issue entirely."

Pam opened the folder, revealing her student ID card from Seattle University. It was marked 1966 and called her 'Dr. Pamela Isley, PhD." She stared down at the 55-year-old picture of herself, slightly unnerved by the innocence in her eyes.

"33, yes? That's how old you were?" Diana asked.

Ivy nodded, silently.

"A time comes in our lives when we have to move on from our identity." Diana told her. "Or at least from who that identity is."

Pam furrowed her brow, more concerned now than when she thought she was being disciplined. "I don't understand…"

"You've worked here as Paula Irving for 16 years. Handled high profile international cases, had your name and picture in the paper. Many of your coworkers have been here just as long or even longer." Bruce told her. "The problem is; Paula Irving still barely looks 30."

 _Oh…_ Pam flipped to the next page in the folder and found a copy of her Wayne Enterprises ID badge, the name 'Paula Irving' sprawled across it in the company's signature Gothic font.

Bruce cleared his throat. "We've run a few aging progressions and have determined you can continue in this identity, in this position for another year before people begin to become more suspicious than impressed."

Ivy studied the graphs on the next page. "And then what?"

"I am prepared to offer you a severance package," Bruce said. "One that will take care of your family until Harleen…"

"Dies." Diana finished for him. "It's my understanding that your children should be grown by then…"

"So that's option one." Bruce finished. "Option two, you do away with your civilian identity entirely and exist solely as Poison Ivy, like you did before the contract. Although that avenue I can't recommend seeing as how it would likely put you and your family in danger."

"Is there a third option?" Pam asked, hoping that the answer was yes, knowing that it would be unhealthy for her to be without some sort of day job, and impossible for her to live with the risks of the other choice.

"Yes." Clark nodded. "The third option is assigning you a new identity and profession. That has already been prepared."

Pam flipped to the next page to find a STARR Labs ID badge with her picture already inserted, even though she had no memory of posing for it. "Dr. Lillian Rose?" Pam couldn't help but laugh. "You can't be serious."

"That's the identity we set up," Clark said, gruffer than usual. _He must have come up with the name_. "Take it or leave it."

"You'll get to be a scientist again." Bruce told her, a self-satisfied smirk creeping onto his lips.

No matter how ridiculous the name was, Pamela couldn't take her eyes off the credential… _Doctor_ … "Yes," She told them, attempting to come off as slightly disinterested, although she was powerless against the wide smile overtaking her features. "Option three."


	9. Chapter 9

"I cannot fucking believe you!" Harleen was angrily attempting to button her shirt whilst maintaining an argument with Pam. "I mean, Jesus, could you be any more fucking selfish?"

Pamela had watched her button the shirt unevenly three times now. "Can I help you, please?"

"No!" Harleen was adamant. "You don't get to touch me for at least another hour."

"Harleen…" Pamela sighed, closing the space between them and forcing the other woman's hands away from her shirt. "Stop it." She maintained focused eye contact while she did the buttons correctly, although Harley had to look away more than once as she bit back angry tears. "We knew this issue would eventually come to roost."

"Don't even start with that." Harleen pushed her away after she'd finished with the shirt. "We said we were going to discuss our options when we had to. You just greenlighting some sort of bullshit witness protection program is not us discussing our options."

Pamela was clearly using all her willpower not to escalate the situation. "We gave the kids your last name for this very reason. This isn't unexpected, it's just inconvenient."

"Inconvenient?" Harleen's laugh was devoid of humor. "Understatement of the fucking year. Can we even be married anymore?"

"That's already been taken care of." The redhead assured her.

Harleen looked up at the ceiling like she was hoping some celestial being would come down from on high and tell Pam she was being ridiculous, but when none came, she did it herself. "WHAT. DOES. THAT. EVEN. MEAN?"

"Well, Bruce had some connections at—"

"Oh my God…" Harley interrupted. "Did we already get divorced and then married again?"

"…Yes." Pam answered, cautiously.

Harley couldn't even look at her, plopping down on the foot of the bed with her face in her hands. "Do we have to move?"

"Yes," Pamela answered again. "Anthony will need to change schools, which is just as well seeing as I wouldn't exactly describe his current institution as academically rigorous."

Harleen was shaking her head. "I hate you so fucking much right now."

Pam decided to leave that one alone, allowing for a moment of silence between them. Harleen was upset, yes. Reasonably so, to some extent…but they really had discussed this before. They'd said when the age difference... _Oh, right_. _Of course_.…Pam crossed over to the bed and knelt down in front of it, tentatively placing her hands on the other woman's thighs. "Daffodil…this isn't about you. It's not about how you look or how we look. It's about how I look to my coworkers."

"Yeah, maybe today." Harley said in a strangled voice. "But pretty soon, Pam, it's going to start looking weird."

"Honey…" Pam pushed the other woman's hair away from her face with a reassuring smile. "You objectively look about 35 right now."

"Great. And when Jolene starts school, I'll objectively look 40 while you look 30." Harley said, trying to still sound more angry than sad. "When Anthony graduates High School, I'll look 47 while you look 30. And when Jolene starts college I'll look 53 and you'll—"

Pamela cut her off with a hard kiss, breathing in deeply through her nose as she pulled Harley to her with a firm hand around the back of her neck. "This wasn't my choice, Harleen." She told her once she'd allowed them to separate. "And I am filled with so much resentment…but without this…inconvenience, I would have never met you and we would have never had any of this. It's a blessing and a curse, Daffodil. Always has been."

Harley didn't give any sort of indication that she'd even heard her. She just stared blankly ahead. Tim had arrived just a bit ago and was now playing in the yard with Anthony while Jolene sat in the grass. Pamela knew this conversation with Harleen was important, but she had to check her watch, and…yeah, they were going to be late. She sighed and stood up, heading over to the dresser for the earrings she wanted to wear.

"I won't be able to work again." Harleen realized from where she was still sitting on the bed. "We won't be able to attend another charity event together and we can't ever go out onto the town with Selina or Bruce again since the tabloids know you as Paula Irving and me as your wife."

"That's right…" Pam confirmed, watching the other woman in the mirror.

Harleen nodded slowly, realization dawning. "My secret identity is a 43-year-old stay at home mom…I went to medical school to end up a 43-year-old stay at home mom."

"No," Pamela said, bristling a bit. "You went to medical school to become a nationally respected practicing psychiatrist for 15 years."

"I always thought I'd go back…" Harley's tone was morose. "Someday, when the kids were old enough…I didn't know I was done."

Pamela had finally located the earring and was clasping it into place. "You don't have to be done. Why don't you do what everyone with a PhD does after they retire?"

Harleen looked up. "What's that?"

"Write a book."

/

If Harleen had been forced to take a quiz at the end of the night based on what they'd spoken about at the party, she would have failed it spectacularly. Her conversations were brief, her tone clipped…she was certain Pamela had apologized for her behavior more than once…Look, she was happy for Barbara and Dick, OK? Wanted to be, at least. But she was too lost in the realization of her new circumstances to sell it. And she straight up hated Pam at the moment. Like it pissed her off to even look at her and her stupid face or hear her stupid voice…and yeah, maybe Barbara and Dick were serving alcohol and maybe, just maybe, Harley had downed a bit more than her fair share. So what? She was a grown woman

The situation with Pam turning into Dr. Flower-Power was inevitable. Harley knew that. But she should have fucking talked to her before accepting a new identity! That definitely seems like something you should run by your wife first, especially seeing as how it drastically effected their family life. Where does she get off? Oh, right. Poison Ivy is a narcissist. Duh. The fucking world revolves around her. _OK…That's enough…_ Harleen cut herself off the booze, although it was a bit too late.

She was still lost somewhere in that train of angry thought when Pamela began shuffling her out the door, citing the need to relieve the babysitter. Pam smiled and waved for both of them (which was clearly difficult for her), saying their goodbyes and offering Barbara a few last minute compliments on her home before ducking out of the house, dragging Harleen with her.

"You could have at least tried tonight." Pam spat as she climbed into the driver's seat.

Harley crossed her arms petulantly, not bothering to put on her seat belt or even acknowledge Pamela's presence. She looked out the window and stayed silent as Pam pulled away from the house, setting them on the path back home (though it wouldn't be their home for long—ugh).

Pamela tried to fiddle with the radio, settling on NPR before Harley leaned forward and shut it off. For a moment, it looked like Pam might protest, but ultimately she reconsidered, allowing the silence as they sped along the dark streets.

They were about two blocks from home when Harley finally spoke. "Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over." Harley repeated.

Although apprehensive, Pam did what she was told, pulling into the currently abandoned parking lot for the park Harley and Selina sometimes took the kids.

Wordlessly, Harleen reached over and shut the car off, then took the other woman's hand and tugged gently. When Pam's only response was to raise a questioning eyebrow, Harley patted her lap, signaling for the driver to abandon her seat.

Again, Pam did as she was told. This wasn't an uncommon way for the two to diffuse the tension of an argument. Sometimes Harley just got tired of talking about feelings. Getting paid to do it all day every day made the practice of domestic quarreling even more exhausting, so sometimes it was just easier to, you know…fuck. Yeah, yeah, maybe it wasn't the most mature approach, but it had been effective so far. So, according to the precedent they'd set, Pam had no reason to distrust Harley's motives.

When she'd settled on her lap, Harley attempted to put her at ease with a kiss, and before long Pam was panting hotly into Harley's neck as she rocked into her, rising and falling on Harley's fingers. Harley was experienced enough in these situations to make do with the confined space, and also know when her wife was getting close.

"Fuck, Harl…" Pam tossed her head back, knocking it on the roof, but too busy to care.

…and that's when Harleen stopped. Just, removed her hand and sat back against the seat.

Pam's head snapped back to attention. With her skin flushed and her breathing labored she asked "Wh—what are you—"

"Trying to communicate to you what I feel like right now: frustrated, betrayed, and a pretty fucking embarrassed, honestly." Harley told her.

Pam had forced her complexion pale for the party, and so the redness in her face was obvious. And yeah, there was a bit more shame in there than Harley intended, but that was sort of satisfying in itself. Pam was too proud to beg for sex, so she didn't, even though she clearly wanted to finish. Instead, she leaned down and traced circles on Harley's neck with her tongue in an attempt to stimulate her into continuing.

…But it was then that Harleen arrived at a crossroads and, without much deliberation or thought of any kind, chose the darkest path. "So eager…" She whispered. Pam immediately froze on top of her. _Don't fucking do it, Harleen!_ "What's the matter, Pammy?" _STOP IT!_ "Aren't you a good girl?" _WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!_

Harleen expected the slap. She even braced herself before impact, and it came hard and fast. A knee-jerk reaction from Pamela as she backed up as far as she could, angry tears welling up in her eyes. Then she looked from her own hand to the welt on Harleen's face, and that look of horror in her eyes hurt worse than the slap for Harleen.

Quickly, Pam pushed herself off of the other woman and back into the driver's seat where she quickly exited the vehicle. Without stopping to readjust her dress from where Harleen had forced it up her thighs, Pam started into the park at a jog and didn't look back.

 **Author's note: Bear with me.**


	10. Chapter 10

Harleen rapped her fingers on her thigh, looking at her phone to check the time, and then the entrance of the park. It had been 20 minutes since Pam disappeared and they were now officially late to relieve Tim. Harleen didn't quite know what to do. She hadn't planned for the fallout of her comments. Idiot. Why did she have to say that? Why did she have to go there? And in a sexual setting? REALLY?! As if it hadn't taken them for-fucking-ever to get Pam comfortable enough to...You're a terrible therapist Harleen. Or, wife. Terrible wife. I'm a terrible wife. Ugh. But also...she pulled a total dick move! Ends don't justify the means, asshole. Yeah, yeah... She felt frozen somehow, not wanting to drive home, but not exactly wanting to follow Pam either. For good reason, since she was pretty sure encountering an unstable Poison Ivy in a dark park at night was a popular start to horror stories some years ago. Harley was also, again, a bit drunk, so her decision making abilities weren't exactly in full force at the moment. At 30 minutes, she finally came to some sort of conclusion and dialed Bruce.

He answered after the third ring. "Harleen?"

"Yeah, hiya. Listen, I did somethin' sorta bad and now Pam's pretty pissed at me."

The line was quiet for a moment. "You're calling me for marital advice?"

"No, I—I really messed up, OK?"

"What did you—"

"It doesn't matter." Harley cut him off. "Jus'…if Ivy gets mad, don't hurt her, alright? She doesn't mean it."

"Harleen, I need to know what sort of risk we're talking about here. What happened?"

"You can't tell Selina." Harley implored. "Please. She would be mad too."

"Harleen, I—"

Harley hung up. Taking one last look at the park entrance, she slid into the driver's seat and carefully navigated the last two blocks home.

Tim was watching TV with his feet up on the coffee table when Harley walked in. He instantly readjusted, giving the table a fast wipe with his sleeve and scurrying to look respectable.

"It's just me, you're fine." She reassured him, sloppily hanging her coat on the hook. "Sorry we're late."

"No, it's all good." Tim smiled. "Teen Titans marathon on cartoon network. I always get a kick out of it."

"Somebody a little full of themselves?" Harleen raised an eyebrow.

"Hey," Tim laughed. "I'll take what I can get! Speaking of which…"

Harleen pointed to Pam's wallet where it sat on the counter. "The cash is yours."

Tim vaulted over the couch to investigate. Rapidly counting the bills, he furrowed his brow. "Harl, there's like 200 bucks here."

"Are the kids asleep?" She questioned.

"Yeah. But, hey, what happened to your face?"

Harley had almost forgotten what was likely now a bruise on her cheek, or a welt at the very least. "Alcohol." She answered, plainly. "And you earned the money. Bruce doesn't give you enough of an allowance anyway."

Tim grinned. "You guys have fun?"

"Not even a little bit." Harley told him. "Can you get yourself home?"

He evidently could, which was good because driving him in her current state wouldn't exactly make her a model of lawful behavior.

Her first task was to check on the kids. Anthony lay in his bed with his covers pulled tight around him, his glasses hanging lopsided off of his face, and an action figure clutched to his chest. Kid Flash, to be specific. Wally was his favorite since they had similar red hair and kids were superficial. Harley pulled his glasses off and set them on the bedside table. Some months ago, she'd called Pam to tell her she thought maybe Anthony was having depth perception issues, and Pam had left work immediately to get him to an ophthalmologist. Harley thought she vaguely remembered some story about Pam's mom not letting her get glasses or something, so that was probably where that little heart attack stemmed from. Pam's mission as a parent seemed to just be do everything better and different than her mother had…which Harley supposed was the goal of most parents, or at least the ones with mommy issues as gnarly as Pam's. But for how much of Pam's life that woman's actions still dictated, Pam rarely ever talked about her. The last time she was discussed in any sort of detail was…shit…when Harley used her example to prove to Pam that no one had ever loved her. Technically, Pam had proposed that they get married about two years into their courtship, but looking back, Harley realized that moment on the grass at the hospital was probably the true proposal, and it was Harley who'd asked, or demanded it, really. That was the moment Pam truly became her emotional dependent. How romantic.

Jolene lay in her crib, limbs sprawled out everywhere, blanket kicked down to her feet, using her stuffed unicorn as a pillow (slobber receptacle). Harley smiled down at her little mess. "Are you an asshole like me?" She asked, gently running her fingers through the girl's strawberry blonde curls.

"Mama."

Harley jumped nearly out of her skin, whirling around to see Anthony sitting up in bed. "Anthony! You—"

"Mama, why is she scared?"

Confused, Harley glanced down at Jo, who was still sound asleep.

"She's mad and sad, too." Anthony told her.

"Honey, what are you talking about?" Harley asked, crossing to kneel in front of his bed, thinking maybe he had woken up from a dream and was confused.

Anthony yawned, snuggling back into his pillow. "She can smell him, but he smells like you."

He could hear Ivy. Harley suddenly felt very cold. Her spine tingled. She had to remind herself for maybe the 18th time in her life that no, her son was not that kid in every horror movie. He just…sometimes said things that really creeped her out. And what was there to be afraid of? Her wife? The woman who stitched up her face and made her French toast on her birthday?

…or the one who strangled her parents, fed her victims to giant carnivorous plants, and ensured a painful death with just a kiss. Fuck.

Harleen leaned down and pressed her lips to Anthony's cheek. "Mom is gonna be OK. She's just throwing a fit."

"Like Jo does?" He asked, his eyes closed.

"Mhm," Harleen confirmed, standing up and taking one more look around the room. "Goodnight." She stepped into the hallway and only left the door open a crack before stealing down the stairs to check her phone. No word from Batman, which meant Poison Ivy hadn't started tearing up the city yet.

She'll come home. Harleen assured herself, curling up on the couch near the big picture window and watching the empty street. She'll come home.


	11. Chapter 11

**author's note: Hey, ya'll. Trigger warning on this one, maybe. If you remember Ivy's Mad Love backstory...just a quick trip down memory lane. You know yourselves.**

Harleen woke with a start at the sound of the sprinklers turning on. She felt nauseous, from the booze and from the guilt. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the light, Harley realized she'd fallen asleep on the couch. It was early morning—6, maybe 7. Saturday, thank God, meaning she didn't have to get Anthony to school. The light was cold and the morning crisp. Harley had forgotten to turn the heat on in the house the night before, so that was what she did first before realizing the reason she was still on the couch—Pam hadn't come home. She panicked, ignoring her nausea to sprint up the stairs to their bedroom.

Empty.

The bathroom was next, followed by the kids' room and Pam's office.

All empty.

 _Fuck_.

Pam definitely hadn't slept on the couch, since that's where Harley was. She should have been able to hear her if she'd entered the house…

Wait, that wasn't the sprinklers, that was the garden hose! Harley's heart lept as she peered out the back door to see Pam standing in the garden watering the plants. Her skin was green and her dress was smudged with mud in a few places, but other than that she looked pretty alright.

"Pam!" Harleen left the door open behind her as she burst out into the yard. "Oh my god, I was so worried!" Harley continued toward her but was stopped by her voice.

"Good morning, Harleen." She said, icily, not turning to face the other woman.

"Hey, hi! Yeah, good morning." Harley was too relieved to hide her excitement. "Where did you sleep last night? I thought maybe you might be cold…"

Pam didn't respond, just calmly went to shut the hose off before heading back into the house and up the stairs. Harley jogged after her, hoping that maybe she could just be mad and they could get past it. Pam stopped short of their bedroom door and finally acknowledged Harley.

"The kids need breakfast." She said, before shutting the door in her wife's face.

Harleen stood there in the hallway for a moment, studying the design of the wood in front of her. _Well…I think that could have gone worse…_ Breakfast, yeah, she could make breakfast. She could make the best damn breakfast her kids had ever eaten! Best damn breakfast Pam had ever seen!

…

"No-o-o-o-o-o-o!" Jo fussed, banging her cup of dry cheerios on her high chair. "No!"

"Mama…" Anthony cautiously eyed his sister. "Jo doesn't like cheerios."

"Jo doesn't like anything," Harleen grumbled as she was pelted with her daughter's now empty cup.

The girl began to cry, seemingly at her sudden self-induced loss of food. Anthony watched her for a moment before getting up and crossing the living room to the record player. He switched it on and gently set the needle down on the record, and suddenly, Jolene fell silent, listening to Dolly Parton repeat her name over and over again.

"She likes the song," Anthony explained as he took his seat at the table once more, just in time for Pam to walk down the stairs wearing a turtle neck sweater and jeans, her hair still a bit damp from the shower. "Mom!" Anthony grinned.

She offered him a half-baked smile in return, coming around to kiss Jolene on the head and then grab an apple from the fruit bowl. "I'll be in the greenhouse." She told them, leaving as quickly as she'd arrived.

"Wait! Pam, hold on…" Harleen pulled on her winter coat. "Anthony, you're in charge of Sis for a second. Just make sure the song keeps playing, come get me if you need to." With that, Harley jogged out after her. "Pam, please. Can we talk? Look, I'm really sorry. I seriously fucked up, OK?" Pam was sitting down behind her work bench, so Harley let herself in and closed the door behind them. "I just—I was really angry and pretty drunk and I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." She concluded.

Pam took a bite of her apple, watching her where she stood near the entrance. "I can still see the ceiling."

"What?" Those weren't exactly the first words she was expecting.

"Have you ever been raped, Harleen?" Pam asked, putting the piece of apple in her cheek so she could speak. "And not statutory rape. I mean, have you ever been held down, gagged…had your legs forced open, and something—not necessarily part of the human body—shoved inside of you? Have you ever been torn apart, Harleen? Ripped in two?"

"I—uh—no." Harleen stammered, her stomachache worsening.

"Mm." Pam nodded, chewing and swallowing. "The ceiling…it was cement. He moved me down to the basement. We used it to store equipment, but he used it to store me."

"Pam, I'm…I'm so sorry," Harleen breathed.

"No you're not. Not really, anyway." Pam said, taking another bite. "The ceiling had a few cracks in it. On the first day, I thought they were just cracks, but by the end of the first week, that ceiling could have very well been the Cysteine Chapel for all its intricacies. That's what I see when I close my eyes at night. 55 years later, that ceiling is what I see."

Harley swallowed, hard.

Pam got up from her chair and walked around the bench, casually leaning against it. "I could hear people walking above me. Just…going about their usual days. Sometimes I'd wonder if it was my friends up there—Alec, Damian, Linda…but it was usually him. I'd scream until my voice went hoarse…or at least I thought I did. With what was being pumped into my system, I could have made it all up. But I'd scream and he would come. Have you ever been fucked by a dog, Harleen?"

Harley's mouth fell open, the color draining from her face.

"Oh, don't worry. Neither have I." Pam waved her off. "But if you were to ask my drug-addled brain that question back then, I'd probably have a much different answer. That was one of the more vivid hallucinations I experienced. He took the form of a giant, salivating hound…In reality, though, it was just my brain attempting to assign him another face."

Unbidden tears were gathering in Harleen's eyes. "Pammy, I—"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Pam rifled the apple at her, and Harleen had to duck to avoid it. Pam tapped her wrist in a pattern that she'd learned through their EMDR therapy, and in another moment she'd calmed back down. "Nobody came to save me, Harleen. No one heard my screams. Leather is an impressive material, truly. If I wasn't now frightened of the feeling or the smell, I would employ it more often in my work…turns out leather is much studier than the human wrist and ankle bones." Pam rubbed her right wrist soothingly. "Do you understand the level of desperation required to purposefully snap your bone in half? To focus all your energy on hurting yourself so severely?"

Harleen nodded, silently.

"And then I ran on it," Pam laughed, mirthlessly. "For two miles through the streets of downtown Seattle on my broken ankle, completely naked…I didn't have time to feel ashamed, I just had to get away…and after that…I didn't see the world again for another four months, and when I did, I was…" She held up her green hands. "This."

Harleen had forfeited to her emotions at this point, allowing tears to roll down her cheeks. "Pamela, I am so. So. Sorry." Harley wanted to go to her, wanted to reach out, to touch her, to kiss her…to fix her. But she didn't dare take a step closer.

Pam was watching her again. "How long have you had that in your holster? How many times has it been on the tip of your tongue? Was it your fail-safe? If an argument ever got out of hand, did you keep your finger in the pin of that grenade knowing it would ruin me? When I gave myself to you for the first time, when I asked you to marry me, on our wedding night, when Anthony and Jolene were born—were those phrases there, swimming around in your mind, poised for your selfish use the whole time?"

"No, no it wasn't like that, Pam. You have to believe me." Harley pleaded.

"Were you curious, Harleen?" Pam asked. "Curious as to how I would react? Did you think about it when we were having sex? Did you make me pull the car over last night because you knew that's when it would hurt the worst?"

Harley sniffed and wiped the tears away from her face.

"I can't stand the smell of you," Pam said, disgusted. "I trusted you, Harleen. I trusted you with everything and you threw it back in my face. Get out. Please."


	12. Chapter 12

Pamela clacked her heels insistently below the table, her hands trapped under her thighs on the seat. The sun was long past set and dinner was long past cold, the gravy having congealed on her potatoes. But still, she waited. _Patience, patience, patience,_ she sang in her head, ignoring the insistent growling of her stomach and the sharp pain in her bladder.

When the clock chimed nine, her tapping became louder, her rhythm faster.

"Pamela!" Her mother scolded from the other end of the table. "Stop your incessant fidgeting!"

Pamela did stop, her face now hot, switching to squeezing her hamstrings instead. That was silent, at least. "Mother, may I be excused?"

"No."

"Just very quickly, please. Just to use the washroom."

"No."

Pamela's gaze returned to her plate where she studied the thickened gravy, then she looked up excitedly. "Mother, did you use an animal fat to make this gravy?"

"Yes, Pamela," her mother sighed.

"Well…" Pamela smiled. "Did you know that animal fats don't stay liquid at room temperature because their carbon atoms are saturated with hydrogen atoms, so they're able to lie straight and pack neatly into solid arrangement? As opposed to plants, whose missing hydrogen atoms cause kinks in the fatty acid chains, reducing the amount of intermolecular bonding that occurs, therefore allowing it to stay liquid."

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "And what in the world will I or you ever do with that information?"

"I just think it's sort of wonderful," Pamela smiled. "To think of coagulation as atoms snuggling closer together to fight off the cooler temperatures."

"Well I think it's a bit ridiculous," said her mother, glancing up at the clock.

A few moment of silence passed before Pamela asked, "Did you attend a University?"

"No," her mother answered, plainly. "But you will. Seems it's the only way to find a man with any career prospects these days. And I think it will be wise to get you married as quickly as possible seeing as how I'm not convinced you'll age well, given how much time you spend out in the sun, you'll look like a raisin by the time you're 30."

Pamela took her hands out from under her and studied them, scrutinizing their every bend and divot for a blemish that didn't exist. Not a single scratch marred their pale surface.

The front door opened and Mr. Isley walked in, hanging his hat and coat on the hook just inside.

"You're late," Mrs. Isley intoned. "We've been waiting."

He sighed. "So I am, Lillian. I'll take my supper in my study. I've got work to do."

"You were just at work," she reminded him. "And Pamela and I expected to eat dinner as a family."

"Well, Lillian…" He took his plate and silverware from the table. "Seeing as how dinner was your sole responsibility today, I don't feel terrible about giving you the opportunity to experience some adversity."

Mrs. Isley drew her mouth into a hard line. "Very well," she murmured, watching him retreat down the hallway.

"Mother, may I use the washroom now?" Pamela asked, desperate at this point.

"Yes, fine." She waved her off. "Go."

Pamela rapidly rose from the table and began the fastest run she could muster in her school shoes.

"No running in the house!" Her mother bellowed.

The girl forced herself to slow. Knowing what it would mean as she rounded the corner at a measured pace. She was two doors away from her destination when she began to feel the warm liquid trickle down her leg.

/

" _Isley_." Flash's voice came over the intercom.

Ivy ignored him, comfortable in her seat in the rec room, leisurely flipping through the newest issue of her favorite botanical journal.

" _Dr. Isley_."

Cyborg stopped mid-pushup. "You deaf?"

"No…" Pam answered, plainly, flipping to the next page.

"…Paging Poison Ivy."

"Oh, goddamn it!" She angrily threw the magazine down on the table and started in a huff up to the main floor. Cyborg snickered as she left and it took all her willpower not to attempt kicking his arms out from under him. "What do you want?" Ivy asked, her arms crossed.

Flash spun around in his chair, and then around again when he failed to stop his momentum. "They need backup in Metropolis."

Ivy laughed. "I think whatever it is, Superman can handle it."

"Superman and Supergirl are off planet for the day." Flash informed her.

Ivy groaned. "Why can't you do it?"

"I'm in charge!" He spread his arms wide, indicating the control panel he sat at. "It's not my job to fix stuff today, it's my job to find the right people to fix it…so…go do that."

The shuttle dropped her off near a smoking, overturned car as civilians fled the scene.

"Excuse me," she grabbed a woman by the shirt as she ran past her, stopping her in her tracks. The woman's eyes were wide with fear. "Can you tell me what the problem is here?"

"It's—it's Livewire," the woman breathed. "Batwoman tried to—"

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Ivy flipped the sky off just in case Flash happened to be looking and shoved the woman aside, rounding the corner towards the flashes of light in the distance.

Batwoman did a back-handspring to avoid a bolt of electricity that left the sidewalk blackened, returning fire with a spray of what Ivy guessed was silica dust, one of the bat-clan's many toys.

"Leslie." Ivy greeted with a smile.

Livewire turned, surprised to hear that name, until she saw Ivy and her lips spread into a wide smile. "Poison Ivy, you slut."

Batwoman was evidently grateful for the break as she was resting with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

Ivy put her hands on her hips. "Oh, come now, Leslie. No need to be crude." She tsked.

"Fine, how about 'traitor?'" Livewire asked, decreasing her electrical output to lower herself to the ground.

"Well that's a bit romantic," Ivy chuckled.

"Mmm…" Leslie was amused. "Ever seen a tree in a lightning storm?"

"Yeah, she has," Batwoman straightened up, circling around her target. "And it makes her really mad."

Ivy rolled her eyes and stomped her foot on the ground, summoning a thick vine from beneath the pavement. Livewire was alert enough to zap it before it could wrap around her, and the vine flailed in the air as it burnt. "Bitch," Ivy grumbled as three more burst from the concrete. Livewire gave the first two the same treatment, but the third exploded just before it reached her, the moisture running through it dampening her long enough for Batwoman to aim her silica spray. While her attention was removed, Ivy directed another vine to wrap around the woman's waist and drag her to the ground.

Ivy sighed as Batwoman gave Livewire a thorough spray to finish her off where she lay on the ground. "You're better than that, Leslie. Bring your A game next time." Then she turned to Batwoman. "I thought bats were nocturnal…and lived in Gotham…and had other responsibilities to tend to in the daylight."

"I'm on loan," Batwoman told her. "And cats are useful allies."

Ivy nodded, and, having received all the information she needed, began to walk back to the shuttle before tossing a "be careful" over her shoulder. She knew she shouldn't have told Flash she wasn't rushing to get home at the end of the day. He was so nosy…

She enabled her headset when she returned to the shuttle. "Should I be helping with containment?"

" _That's a nugatory, Poison Oakey_."

"Ivy…it's Poison Ivy…" She grumbled, strapping herself in.

/

Pamela was late getting home again…on purpose. She was aiming to arrive just as Harleen was putting the children to bed, that way she could relieve her of her duties and there wouldn't be enough time for Harleen to attempt "a conversation" before she left for her patrol shift.

It was 9 o'clock when she walked in, but for some reason, everyone was sitting at the table.

"Mom!" Anthony said excitedly as she closed the front door behind her. "Mama got us pizza with pineapple."

"Well that's…wonderful." Pam hung her coat on the hook. "But what are you doing awake?"

"I was commuting today," Harleen reminded her from where she was cutting Jo's slice into manageable pieces. "And I'm off tonight so everything was sort of pushed back. We were going to wait for you to eat, but—"

"No!" Pam said quickly. "No, I'm glad you didn't."

Harley, Anthony and Jolene were all a bit startled by Pam's sudden outburst on the subject, but Harley cautiously braved another sentence. "I got you a salad. The one with the little oranges," she pointed to a container on the table. "Dressing on the side."

Pam didn't move from where she stood, just looked from Harleen to the children.

"You could…eat it in the greenhouse, if you want." Harley offered, sensing Pam's continued discomfort around her. She watched curiously as Pam nervously squeezed the side of her leg. "Pamela…would you like to hold Jolene?"

When Pam didn't answer, Harley got up from her chair, taking Jolene with her, and walked over to the other woman. "Hey," she said, softly. "Whatever it is, you're here, alright? Your feet are touching the ground, your head is above water…here." Harley handed her the baby. "Just…it's OK."

Pam held Jolene tightly to her body, rocking her side to side like she used to on those sleepless nights when she was an infant rather than a toddler. Pam closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of the girl's strawberry-blonde hair. _Patience, patience, patience_ …

"I'm sorry," Harleen whispered, for what was probably the millionth time in the last month. "I'm sorry I dragged you back."

Pamela knew she was. At this point, she was sure of it. But she couldn't stop the associations. Her brain made connections too quickly. But that night, for the first time since the incident, Pamela did sleep in their bed rather than in the greenhouse. She did it wearing a long-sleeved nightgown and sweatpants rather than her typical underwear and oversized t-shirt, but it was certainly progress none-the-less.

She sat up in bed and watched Harleen change, speaking up when she removed her shirt to reveal a large bandage on her side held in place by gauze that wrapped all the way around her waist. "Is that a burn?"

"Yeah," Harleen said, a bit nervously, clearly treading carefully in any and every conversation with her wife at this point. "She zapped me pretty good. You came just in time…I was hurting."

"Mm." Pam nodded. "Who bandaged it?"

"Alfred. I think it's a second degree." Harley told her.

Pam just nodded again, laying down in the bed now, pulling the covers all the way up to her chin.

"So…" Harley cleared her throat, slipping into bed beside her, but careful not to touch her beneath the blankets. "It seemed like you might have been triggered by something in the kitchen? Do you want to talk about it?"

Pam almost laughed. "No. Certainly not with you." She could see the hurt in the other woman's features at the comment, but it wasn't Pam's job to baby her on the subject.

"I understand," Harleen murmured. "I wouldn't want to talk to me either." She reached out to tuck the lock of hair that had fallen in front of Pam's eye behind her ear, but quickly abandoned the movement, blushing a bit as she retracted her hand. "I—umm—I got in touch with a realtor today."

Pam was intrigued, but tried not to let on. "Oh?"

"Yeah, Bruce recommended her to me." Harleen said. "Since you went ahead and made the decision for us, moving is pretty inevitable, so I thought I should at least be involved in the process."

"It was the best option," Pam mumbled, rolling to lie on her side facing the other direction.

"That's not the point," Harleen sighed. "The point is people who are married make life changing decisions together."

Pam didn't respond right away, just brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, comforting herself as she'd been forced to for most of her life. "I got excited."

"What?" Harley asked, lolling her head to study the other woman's back.

"About being a doctor again," Pam said. "I got excited and I…I wanted to keep you. I thought…I wasn't quite sure…I just wanted to keep you."

Harleen either wasn't following or didn't have anything to say because instead of responding, she moved forward slightly and pressed her lips to the redhead's shoulder blade. "I love you, Pamela."

Pam's pillow was wet where her face lay, so she quickly reached up and shut the bedside lamp off, refusing to offer her wife another opportunity to perceive her as weak. "Goodnight, Harleen."


	13. Chapter 13

"Hey, I don't think so, Dude," Harleen warned as Anthony went to set his bottle back in the fridge. "You need to drink that entire thing before you get in the car."

Anthony pouted. "How come?"

Harleen was strapping Jolene into her high chair for breakfast. "Because special boys need special drinks, alright? Just, please. You're gonna make Mom late."

Anthony grumbled as he begrudgingly returned the straw to his mouth, attempting to suck down the horrible liquid. "Mom, can you do-up my tie?" He asked Pam as she emerged from her study, briefcase in hand.

"Mama's better at that." She admitted. "But I can tie your shoes…"

"Pfft, Mom, I'm not a baby anymore. I can do that all by myself."

Pam smiled to herself, turning to the sink to get a glass of water. "Well _excuse_ me…"

"OK, come here," Harleen beckoned Anthony over as she finished slicing Jo's banana. "You know you don't have to wear a tie to school, right?" she wrapped the fabric around itself.

"Mr. Wayne said it's how come he has such a big house. Because he wears ties and stuff." Anthony explained.

Harley laughed while Pam scoffed, setting her water down. "Mr. Wayne has such a big house because Mr. Wayne was born into a billion-dollar fortune. I can guarantee you it has little to do with his business acumen, let alone his wardrobe."

Anthony frowned, doing some mental arithmetic. "Does he wear a tie when you go to work for him?"

Harleen froze, turning to look at Pam where she leaned against the counter, drumming her fingers on the surface. Narrowing her green eyes, she let slip a muffled, "touché" before pushing off and grabbing her brief case. "But not for long," she gave an oddly cheery smile.

Harley finished with the tie and stood up. "Backpack?" She prompted.

Anthony slid it off the table and strapped it onto his back. "Check!"

"OK," Harleen smiled, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. "Have a good day, alright? And you too…" Out of habit, she leaned in to give Pam a kiss, but quickly realized her mistake when the redhead moved back instead of forward.

"Yes, and you." Pam offered, cordially, taking Anthony by the hand and walking out the door.

"Bye, Mama!" He said before the door shut.

 _So…that's not gonna work anymore_ , Harley decided, turning back to Jolene. It had been a month and a half already. "Are you ready to do some work today?"

"Mmm—mm—mm—mm," The girl hummed, a satisfied smile on her face as she pushed another piece of banana into her mouth.

"I'm going to take that as a 'yes'," Harleen grinned. "First thing's first, we're gonna need to make a few calls…Does our fax machine work?"

Jo slapped her open palm on her tray, smashing the banana that was stuck there.

"You're right. Of course it does. My wife is like 90 years old," Harley started down the hallway to Pam's study. "Don't go anywhere."

 _Leeland, leeland, leeland_ … She scrolled through her contacts as she plugged the fax machine into the wall. The doctor picked up on the 3rd ring.

" _Hello_?"

"Joan! Hi." Harley said, glad to have caught, her given her busy patient schedule. "This is Harleen—Dr. Quinzel. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm…doing well…" Joan was clearly surprised to hear from her. "Are you…calling to negotiate your return?"

"No." Harley answered quickly. "I'm calling for a favor." A loud clattering rang out from the kitchen.

"What was that?" Joan asked.

Harley jogged back to the kitchen to make sure Jo hadn't knocked her chair over. Nope. Just pushed the glass Pam had used off of the table. "Nothing," Harley assured her through the phone, scolding Jo with a look as she spoke. "My daughter is just…fascinated by chaos."

" _Daughter_?" Joan asked.

 _Oh, right_ … "Yes. But listen, I need a favor."

Joan was cautious. "Alright…"

"I need Poison Ivy's file. I just need you to fax it to me." Harleen said, getting the request out as quickly as possible.

Joan didn't answer right away. _"…You want me to send you your wife's insane asylum mental health file?_ "

"Yes." Harley confirmed.

" _Dr. Quinzel…_ " Joan almost laughed. " _That is so…morally corrupt, I can't…I mean, no. My God, no_."

Harleen sighed. "I'm desperate here, Joan. Please. Pam's hanging on by a thread." _OK, so maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration_. "I just need a refresher so that I can circumvent a possible blow up, alright? It's a public safety crisis."

" _Harleen..._ " Joan said through what sounded like clenched teeth. " _You've got me in tough spot here_."

"Yes, well…it's not as if Arkham has a sterling record of ethics, Joan. And Ivy hasn't been a patient for almost 20 years. I have her best interest in mind."

A half hour later, she had the file in hand. And man, was it thick. Harleen had somehow forgotten that. Easy to gloss over a few faults—or red flags, maybe—when you're sleeping with the patient. "This is a bunch of paper that tells me why your mom is crazy." She explained to Jo, who was now sliding around on the living room floor on her stomach because Jo was sort of a weird kid and that was one of the many weird things she liked to do.

Harleen pulled down the dry-erase board that they sometimes used to make grocery lists and whatnot and uncapped the pen. "Alright…" She poised the tip at the surface. "The basics…" She wrote down the names "Ivy" and "Pamela" at the top of the board. "So here's the deal, Jo. There are two distinct sides to your Mom's personality. Now before you get all, 'wait a minute, Ivy doesn't have DID!' you are correct. But you also don't need to have Dissociative Identity Disorder to compartmentalize aspects of your psyche. That's a valuable lesson, Jo. I'm serious. Everyone's always rushing to make that diagnosis the second someone dissociates or proves they might be multi-faceted and it's super fucking annoying, alright?"

"Mama-mama-mama," Jo said, in what Harleen considered a confirmation.

"Good. So there are two distinct eras to your Mom: Pamela and Ivy." She circled the corresponding names. Or, 'BW and AW'. Before Woodrue or After Woodrue, of course."

Jo tucked her head into her neck, attempting to eat a piece of smooshed banana off of her collar, but it sort of looked like she was nodding, so Harley continued.

"Ivy was a reaction to what happened to Pamela," she explained. "Ivy is angry, and mad is always either sad or scared just disguised. In your mom's case I suspect it's both. Now, what she's sad about is clear: Woodrue took her life away. She was, I'm guessing, a bit socially awkward, didn't know how to connect with people as well as she did plants, and so here comes this guy who tells her she's smart and gives her a job, and she trusts him. For the first time she trusts somebody and how does he repay that trust? By violating that trust. Because what is rape if not a violation?"

Jo rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

"I know," Harleen sighed. "I know." She wrote the word 'violated' under 'Pamela'. "So enter Ivy. The coping mechanism. Ivy was a modern woman before it was cool and that was scary for people. Well…that and the whole serial killer thing."

Jo giggled from her spot on the ground.

"Sadist," Harley shook her head. "Her connection to her Pamela side ebbs and flows, but she seems able to channel the Ivy persona whenever, so very rarely do temperamental or environmental changes affect her ability to perform her Poison Ivy related tasks. When I met her at Arkham, she was almost completely out of touch with her humanity, or…with her past, at least…well…I don't know, maybe I'm giving myself too much credit." She paced for a moment. "Or, maybe not. I don't know. Doesn't matter right now. The point, the first few months of our relationship—after she got out of Arkham—she was Poison Ivy, or…Pamela, because she's always Pamela, but Pamela-leaning-Ivy." She drew a circle around 'Ivy' and then connected it to 'Pamela' with a thick line. "So then the whole Joker thing went down."

Jo's tongue lazed out of her mouth and she slobbered on the floor.

"Well I'm not gonna get too much into it," Harleen told her. "But, bullet points: I got shot because Joker insulted Pamela and Ivy couldn't control her temper. It's like she sees her former self as this…innocent that still, to this day, needs a champion. I think she idealizes her, or that time in her life...but anyway, your mom has a nasty temper."

Jo didn't have much to say about that, so Harley shrugged. "It's true," and then moved on. "So Ivy got triggered, like…pretty severely because of allusions Joker made to her assault—she has PTSD, by the way—but the weird thing is that afterwards, in her affected period, the flashbacks were about her childhood. Her mother, specifically." Harley stopped pacing and turned to Jo. "Which is probably exactly what happened this time. I triggered her by referencing the rape, but last week in the kitchen…I mean, it must have been the domestic setting, right?"

Jo was humming to herself again.

"Exactly," Harleen agreed. "So if…ugh." She came back to the table and opened the file. "Jason Woodrue, Jason Woodrue…" she flipped past his picture to the crime scene photos of the basement, a section of Pam's file she'd skipped previously. "Fuck, Jo…" She studied the weathered photographs, the bloodied table, the broken straps. According to the police report, after Pam woke up from the coma, she told law enforcement officials where she'd been held and they were able to connect her account to a crime scene they'd discovered some months before. They found the room before they found Pamela.

Harley's stomachache returned. "So this…this was the breaking point, where she lost her ability to regulate," Harley tapped her finger on the photo. "But the trauma…Jo, what if she had PTSD before Woodrue? Look, I mean, that's how I beat her the first time…or, not beat her, relationships shouldn't be a competition. I love her. Have for a very, very long time, but it took a little push to make it livable. The thing is, though, when I…broke her, I did it by invoking her mother. It's almost like…Ivy's "monster" is Woodrue, and Pam's is her mother." She made a quick note on the board before resuming her pacing.

"But see, she lost a bit of her confidence after that. Sort of took on this 50s housewife thing, which doesn't exactly match up with the typical Ivy characterization, but was amazing and fantastic and totally what I needed for that time in my life…and I think it was good for her too. So maybe that was Pamela. Or, maybe that was her mother's Pamela." Harley drew a little offshoot of the name and added the word 'mother'. "But Pam's also a perfectionist through and through. She has to be the best at everything. So maybe…maybe that was her being the best wife possible. Proof that she was or is, in fact, perfect."

Harley glanced down at Jo where she was gnawing on a Battlesuit Batman she'd found under the couch before turning back to the file. "I remember the whole murdering her parents thing not being in her file, but there should at least be some background. I mean, she was a ward of the state, so there should probably be a…birth certificate."

Jo stared up at her questioningly.

"Yours is forged," Harley told her, quickly. "Let's see…7lbs, 14oz. Aww!" Harley smiled. "Guess how much I weighed. Seriously, Jo. Guess."

The girl threw the toy across the living room.

"6lbs, 6oz, born on 9/11." Harley told her. "I think I was meant for some terrible fate or, like, I was meant to be the antichrist or something. Probably am in your mom's eyes at this point." Harleen cleared her throat, getting off that train of thought. "Pamela Lillian Isley," she read "Born to Howard Isley and…Lillian Isley." Harley frowned… "Lillian…Dr. Lillian Rose. Rose. Jo, that's weird, right?" Jo was bobbing her head up and down. "Because her mother, Lillian, was obsessed with roses, right? That's what the…" she looked down at the engagement ring on her finger above her wedding band, the white gold rose holding a sapphire. "That's either just a weird coincidence or some cosmic fuckery, I guess. But she does use that name a lot. Lillian, I mean. It was always 'Pamela Lillian Isley', not just Pam Isley."

"Mama-mama-mama," Jo mumbled.

"Well yeah, it's her middle name, but you don't see me going around introducing myself as 'Harleen Frances Quinzel', do you?"

Jo was preoccupied with knocking the Batman on the ground.

"OK," Harleen sighed, shaking her head. "So what questions do I need answered? Because the Mom angle was how I fixed things last time. 1: Why is she still so important to her? 2: How do I use that to my advantage? Can't answer the second without the first." She took a deep breath. "If I had a shitty mom, I would want to do everything different with my kids, right? I mean, I already do. That's like—human nature. To want to improve upon bullshit you had to put up with as a kid. So what does Pam do that her mother didn't? What does Pam do? Pam insists on taking Anthony to school in the mornings. Pam shows a lot of physical affection with the kids. Pam…says 'I love you'. All the time. She says it all the fricken time, so much so that Anthony asked me if she thought he would forget. Oh, holy shit." Harley laughed, not cruelly, just continually in awe of how the mind's most complex problems are often rooted in something so simple. "Pam's still trying to earn her Mother's love."

Jo smiled, her green eyes twinkling.

Harley grinned too and sat down next to her on the ground, pulling the girl into her lap. "I could probably get her in two questions. But…there's no way she's ready for any sort of therapeutic conversation with me. I totally obliterated the trust necessary for that relationship." She absently stroked Jo's round cheek. "I need leverage. I need…to call that relator."

/

The worst part this whole mess was that Harleen had initially been in the right. She'd had a strong argument. Pam had, indeed, been an asshole uprooting their family like that. But…Harleen took it too far. She just totally nuked the human decency that was supposed to be an example for Pam in their relationship. She just…she broke it, and now any argument Harleen raised on any other subject was essentially null and void. And so here she was, pushing herself around the 4th listing on the relator's list, trying to pretend like this wasn't all complete and absolute bullshit. She was doing it for the leverage and because it was necessary to move forward.

Pam was carrying Jolene on her hip and discussing something with the relator. It was probably about money and Pam was paying for the house anyway. Harleen sighed as she came to a stop in the middle of the living room. She liked the open spaces, but it just seemed so…cold. They'd spent 16 years making their house a home and the thought of starting over wasn't just frightening, it was frustrating.

"Honey, how were the ramps? Could you get up them OK?" Pam called over.

Harleen knew Pam was just putting on a show, since she hadn't called her by any term of endearment in over a month, but she'd take what she could get. "Yes, fine." She smiled.

Anthony was sliding on his butt down the carpeted stairs. "If we live here I want the room close to the stairs so I can do this before school," he informed Harleen.

"Understood." She nodded

"I"ll give you a moment alone," the relator said with an almost frighteningly bright smile before she exiting in favor of the front lawn.

"Well…what do you think?" Pam asked. "What. Do. You. Think?" She repeated, smiling down at Jo and bouncing her with each word.

Jo giggled and covered her face with her hands like she was embarrassed. Pam was rarely playful like that, and the kids always loved it when she was. So did Harleen, actually.

"Jo likes it much better than the last one." Pam smiled. "How about you, Anthony?"

"Well…" He said, thoughtfully resting his chin on his hands. "I don't like it as much as our house."

Harleen sighed. "We can't live in that house anymore, Bud.

"Why not?" He asked, genuinely curious rather than upset.

"Yeah, Pam. Why not?" Harley passed the question along.

Pam narrowed her eyes at her before turning her attention to Anthony. "Because I'm getting a new name and a new job, so we need a new house."

"Wait," He stood up, suddenly concerned. "But we don't have to get new moms, though, right?"

Anthony could always make Harleen laugh, even if she wasn't exactly in the mood and he wasn't doing it on purpose. "No, you don't. I think you're stuck with us," she saw an opportunity to plant a seed for she and Pam's later conversation, so she jumped on it. "Do you want new moms?"

Anthony's eyes grew wide at even the suggestion. "No way."

Harley glanced over at Pam to see one of those rare, completely unadulterated expressions of happiness on her face. A dazzling smile with slightly flushed cheeks.

 _She just wants to know she's doing a good job._


	14. Chapter 14

" _The village children listened attentively_ ," Harleen read aloud. " _And the Dryad no less attentively; She became a school-child with the rest."_

"Mama, what's a Dryad?" Anthony asked, tugging at the cape on his Miss Martian doll.

Harley looked up from Hans Christian Anderson's _The Dryad_. "It's like a tree spirit," she explained.

The boy furrowed his brow. "But don't all trees have spirits?"

"Well…yes…but Dryads are like people, sort of. Or, they kind've look like them? It's not real, it's a fairytale." Harley told him.

"But…" Anthony's frown deepened. "Isn't Mom like that? Isn't she a plant and a person?"

"I—yes." Harleen admitted.

"So they are real?"

"I don't know, I guess so. Now are you going to let me finish the story?" Harleen asked, a bit impatiently.

Anthony wrinkled his nose and snuggled deeper into the covers as Jo abandoned chewing on her stuffed unicorn in favor of one of the wooden slats of the crib Pam had made. They were convinced the girl would forever be teething.

Harleen cleared her throat pointedly and returned her attention to the book. " _She felt so happy in beautiful France, the fruitful land of genius, with the crater of freedom. But in her heart the sting remained that the bird, that every animal that could fly, was much better off than she. Even the fly could look about more in the world, far beyond the Dryad's horizon._ "

Anthony scowled at Jo as she began to giggle. "It's not funny, Jo. It's sad."

Harley reached out and squeezed his hand where it lay atop the covers as she continued. " _France was so great and so glorious, but she could only look across a little piece of it. The land stretched out, world-wide, with vineyards, forests and great cities. Of all these Paris was the most splendid and the mightiest. The birds could get there; but she, never!_ "

"How come?" Anthony asked. "Why couldn't she leave there?"

Harleen shrugged, "Maybe she was scared."

"Mom wouldn't be scared..." He mumbled.

" _Among the village children was a little ragged, poor girl, but a pretty one to look at_." Harleen moved on. " _She was always laughing or singing and twining red flowers in her blonde hair. "Don't go to Paris!" the old clergyman warned her. "Poor child! if you go there, it will be your ruin." But she went for all that. The Dryad often thought of her; for she had the same wish, and felt the same longing for the great city_."

"What color is blonde, again?" Anthony wanted to know.

Harleen tapped her head, indicating her own hair as she continued to read, skipping a few paragraphs because she was sure Anthony wouldn't be able to tell the difference and it wasn't really for him anyway. " _With the little girl gone, and herself still lonely, the Dryad's thoughts trembled, her limbs trembled, she sank down on the grass by the bubbling water. "Thou wilt ever spring living from the earth," she said mournfully. "Moisten my tongue—bring me a refreshing draught."  
"I am no living water," was the answer. "I only spring upward when the machine wills it."  
"Give me something of thy freshness, thou green grass," implored the Dryad; "give me one of thy fragrant flowers."  
"We must die if we are torn from our stalks," replied the Flowers and the Grass.  
"Give me a kiss, thou fresh stream of air—only a single life-kiss."  
"Soon the sun will kiss the clouds red," answered the Wind; "then thou wilt be among the dead—blown away, as all the splendor here will be blown away before the year shall have ended. Then I can play again with the light loose sand on the place here, and whirl the dust over the land and through the air. All is dust!"_

"That's what they say to me," Anthony admitted, quietly. "The flowers tell me they're hurting."

"I know, Baby…" Harley whispered, gently.

He clutched his doll closer, lip quivering. "So—so she was too scared to leave with the girl and—and then her world died?"

Harleen quickly glanced over the book. There was still a while more to go, and she felt like she'd skipped some important parts, but, with what she did read, she supposed that was a decent summary. "Mhm," she nodded.

"And trees can't live in dust," Anthony realized. "So she died too…all because she was scared." He studied his Miss Martian for a moment before looking up at Harley. "Do you think Mom would follow the girl?"

"Oh, I know she would." Harleen smiled. "She already did. It's how we got you and Jo." She leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek and he wrapped his arms around her neck as she did, trying to keep her there a moment longer.

"I'm glad about that," he whispered into her ear.

"Me too," Harley whispered back before he let go and she tucked him underneath the blankets. "Goodnight."

"Love you, Mama." He mumbled, closing his eyes.

Harley walked over and forcibly detached Jo's mouth from the crib, laying her on her back and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Night, Weirdo."

Pam was sitting in the hallway just outside the door with her knees drawn to her chest and her head resting back against the wall, eyes closed. She opened them when Harley gently closed the bedroom door.

"Hey," Harley prayed that Pam had been there the whole time, listening to the story and to Anthony because the choice of story had certainly been strategic.

Silently, Pam held her hands up to Harley, who tentatively grabbed them and helped her up. She didn't move away once she was on her feet, and when she did release the other woman's hands it was so that she could gently cup her jaw.

Harleen stayed absolutely still, starring back at her as Pam looked into her eyes, learning from the silence as she so often did. She attempted to further quiet her breathing and the pounding of her heart, as if even the slightest sound would scare Pam off.

After another moment of weighted silence, Pam leaned forward and kissed her softly. Not dispassionately, exactly, but also not an invitation to start ripping her clothes off (even if that was exactly what Harleen wanted to do). Harley was smiling before the kiss was even over, but her face quickly fell when Pam whispered, "you're a liar."

Harley was silently guided back against the wall, her confusion evident as Pam kissed her again, pressing deeper this time. "The girl's hair is black, not blonde," she hissed, tugging at Harley's earlobe with her teeth.

 _So she had been listening_ …"I—" Harley gasped as Pam's hand snaked up inside her shirt. "I didn't want him picturing Selina." _Oh, Pamela…for a second there I almost thought you were going to be unpredictable, but…nope!_

Suddenly, Pam stopped and forcefully pressed her forehead against Harley's, to the point where the pressure was almost painful. "Don't ever try to pull that shit again." She said through clenched teeth. "I don't ever want to hear those words from you."

Harley attempted to nod and surge forward to capture her lips again, but she was stopped with a hand around her neck.

"I'm fucking serious."

She wasn't squeezing with her hand, which Harleen was grateful for, just holding it there like a warning. Of what, Harley wasn't quite sure. She didn't think Pam would ever hurt her physically. Not really, anyway. But she was certainly drawing a line in the sand. Harley had made a significant mistake and further slip-ups of that nature would not be so "kindly" received.

"Do you hear me?" There was venom in her tone.

Harleen looked at the other woman with every ounce sincerity she could muster. Pam's skin was her darkest shade of green and her eyes flickered with the poison she usually reserved for her enemies. This was Ivy, and she'd come to protect Pamela again.

"Red…" Harleen made sure her gaze never wavered, their eye-contact never ceased. "On my life, on the kids—It will never happen again."


	15. Chapter 15

"What the fuck are you smiling about?" Selina asked through labored breaths.

"What?" Harleen panted, not quite registering what Selina was saying as she began her sprint interval. Her mind shut off for the next 60 seconds, but when she began to slow down again, Selina was still jogging on the treadmill beside her, starring at her judgmentally.

"That stupid smile," she posed the question slower this time. "Why is it on your face right now?"

Harley brought herself down to a speed walk and felt her face with her hands. "Oh," her smile widened and she jumped to set her feet on the fixed portion of the treadmill on either side of the moving track. With her arms thrust out wide she sang, " _I JUST HAD SE-E-EX_!"

Selina's feet stopped running but the track kept moving, flinging her off the back of the machine. She was, of course, able to land on her feet, but was visibly shaken. "Doogie, why?!"

Harleen laughed as she jumped back on and started her final interval. Still giggling, although breathlessly by the end of it, she shut off the machine and wiped the sweat from her brow with a towel. "Oh, knock it off," she rolled her eyes at Selina who was clutching her stomach as if she were ill. "We were having a bit of a dry spell, but that's _over now_ ," she sang the last part to the tune of _It_ _Must've Been Love_.

"Please stop." Selina threw over her shoulder as she headed for the weight section of Wayne Manor's private gym. "I'm so sorry I asked. I really don't want to know."

Harleen grabbed her waterbottle and followed behind her. "Well…like…it was mostly me taking and her giving, which she likes to think is a punishment for me somehow, but like…I'll take it—anytime, anywhere—you know?"

"I hope you're talking about my fist and not sex from Ivy," Selina seemed to be resisting the urge to cover her ears.

"Oh, no way." Harleen laughed, skipping now. "We never get that kinky."

"Get out." Selina said immediately. "Leave this place. Now. Go on, get. You're not wanted here."

Harley waved her off. "So what should we start with?"

"Muscle-up/pull-up supersets, remember? That's what we—" Selina stopped herself. "Hey! No. This is no longer a joint-workout. You lost that privilege."

"The Great Catwoman, a prude? Who knew!" Harley spread her hands out like the words were up in lights. "I can see the headline now: 'Gotham's Second Most Notorious Sex Pot—a Fraud."

Selina groaned. "Go fuck a plant, Harley."

"I did!" The blonde laughed. "That's how we got into this mess in the first place!"

Resolutely ignoring her, Selina jumped up and grabbed a hold of the pull-up bar, gathering momentum by swinging slightly and yanking herself up over the bar. She held herself at the top for a moment, her elbows locked under her before gently swinging down and returning to the starting position. She was beginning her second repetition when she noticed Harley dancing on the ground below her, thrusting her hips like she was playing a male stripper in _Magic Mike_. Selina swung forward and kicked her in the chest, pushing her to the ground.

"Rude," Harley grumbled, dusting herself off as Barbara entered the room.

"No crying in baseball," Barbara told her, smirking. "And no sitting in the gym. Them's the rules, Baby."

"Yeah, well…Selina, I seem to remember you saying that we don't hit our friends," Harley huffed. "I take it you're not one to lead by example?"

"Kicking is totally different." Selina reasoned as she dropped down, having finished her set. "Any chance Pam was able to take a quick break from her sexual exploits to replenish my skincare regimen?"

"Oh, what?" Harley crossed her arms. 'So you won't let me talk about my sex life but you will accept free shit from my wife?"

Barbara furrowed her brow. "I feel like I missed something here…"

"Consider yourself lucky." Selina told her before raising an expectant eyebrow at Harleen. "So…?"

Harley sighed. "Yes, she did. You'll have to come over and get it, though."

"OK, no. But really. What did I miss?" Barbara glanced back and forth between the blonde and brunette in front of her.

"I guess Ivy was finally able to get her dick hard." Selina informed her, promptly receiving a punch in the arm from Harley.

Barbara's fingers were soothingly rubbing her temple. "That's…a mental image I wish I could un-conjure."

"Alright…well…" Harley took a swig of water. "At least I'm getting laid."

"I'm getting laid." Barbara told her.

"I'm getting laid." Selina seconded.

Harleen flipped them off and jumped up onto the bar Selina had just abandoned.

"So…why are you celebrating sleeping with your wife?" Barbara prompted. "Isn't that sort of…implied?"

"Yeah, I'm way more interested in possible trouble in paradise than hearing about how a 90-year-old woman behaves in the bedroom." Selina agreed.

"Extraordinarily limber," Harley grunted as she pulled herself up. "As for the other question: don't worry about it."

Selina rolled her eyes and sat down on the bench behind her. Barbara was slightly more difficult to shake.

"Seriously…" The younger woman's tone was sincere. "Are you guys alright?"

"I appreciate—the—mmph—support, but I—ah—got it covered." Harleen struggled through her final rep.

Selina narrowed her eyes. "Dr. Quinzel, are we back to handling our wife?"

"No!" Harley wiped her palms on her thighs. "That's—no."

The brunette didn't exactly seem convinced.

Harley's brain worked overtime thinking of a quick subject change, but Barbara ended up supplying it for her. "How much do you think your natural face-lifts cost, guys? If Pam were to charge you."

"Mmm…" Harley stroked her chin thoughtfully. "She'd probably be able to pay my alimony with it."

/

Pam would never wish them to be fighting, but it was nice to have a little bodily autonomy for a stretch.

"Harleen—can you just—space, I beg of you." Pam implored, pushing the blonde off of her shoulder where she was scrolling through her phone. "Don't you have to go?"

"Not for another hour…" Harley smiled, turning onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. "How about we do something _constructive_ until then…" she walked her fingers across the comforter and up the other woman's arm

"Good idea," Pam acknowledged. "I'll finish reading this, and then…you'll go to work."

"Mean." Harleen pouted. "I was thinking something a bit more…intimate." She slowly crawled up over her and swiftly snatched the case briefing away, tossing it behind her with little regard for how or where it landed. The answer to the question Harley didn't ask was: splayed open all over the floor.

"Goddamn it," Pam went to get up, but was pinned back on the bed by her shoulders

"Come on, Red…" Harley whined, her hot breath on Pam's neck. "Don't'cha wanna rev up your Harley? Make up for some lost time?"

Pam raised an eyebrow, aroused, sure, but also not wanting to give her wife the satisfaction. "Are we referring to ourselves as inanimate objects now?"

"Mhm," Harley grinned, hovering over her now. "So are ya gonna let me water your plant or what?"

"Oh, Gaia," Pam covered her face with her hands much like Jolene would. "Can we keep puns out of the bedroom for a while? I'm trying really hard to love you right now." She watched as Harley's expression sobered above her. Pam didn't speak again. She'd said what she meant. But she did gently run her finger down Harleen's cheek, watching them as they brushed against her soft skin.

Harley took Pam's hand and lowered herself so she lay stretched out over her body, her head on her chest. When she spoke, it was after a few minutes of silence. "Why didn't you tell me your Mom's name was Lillian?"

"What?"

"Your Mom." Harley repeated.

Pam's tone was clipped. "What does it matter what her name was?"

Harleen sighed, "I guess I'm just…trying to understand your relationship."

"It ended in me murdering her, what more is there to understand?"

Distractedly tracing the pattern on Pam's tank-top with her index finger, Harley gave a half shrug. "Why is your name 'Pamela Lillian Isley'?"

"My name is Paula Irving."

"No…" Harleen corrected. "Your name is Lillian Rose."

Pam didn't respond right away, instead closing her eyes and allowing herself to be soothed by the repetitive motion of Harley's finger. "My mother was a very intelligent woman," she finally said, using cautious, measured phrasing. "And I think that made her angry."

"Why?" Harley asked.

"Because…Because it wasn't what she was supposed to be," Pam explained. "She was resentful of her own capacity and so she was resentful of mine as well."

Harley just listened, allowing her fingers to come to a stop as Pam went on.

"It's an interesting experience—having a mother that doesn't love you. That truly hates you, as a matter of fact."

"I don't think she really hated you, Pam." Harley said, her voice affected slightly by how he cheek lay on her wife's breast. "Maybe she just didn't know how to express love."

"No…" Pam sighed, now running her fingers through Harley's blonde curls. "It was that unique sort of hatred rooted in jealousy. She had never strived to become anything, so when I did…I was a hopeful child. I was…curious, and that bothered her. She'd never allowed herself to be curious. Never would."

"So she was angry with your dad for making her stay home and she took it out on you?" Harley attempted to summarize.

"No," Pam laughed. "Not back then. She knew her place and that role was so engrained in her she couldn't even allow herself to be resentful of it. I think she hated me from the moment the doctor told her she'd be having a child. Since she knew I was a girl. Since she held me for the first time. I think she looked into my eyes and saw a bolt on the front door, realized that even though she couldn't even conceive of anything else, the screaming bundle in her arms was her life sentence."

Harleen thought that over for a moment. "Then why did she give you her name?"

"I don't know," Pam admitted. "But she hated me the most the day I brought my diploma home. Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, PhD…every day I wasn't married she ridiculed me for it. Told me I was throwing my life away, wasting my beauty that could be used to create attractive offspring…my Mother thought largely in appearances, it seemed. So, at first, I introduced myself using my full name just to spite her. So she would always be lumped in with my 'life choices'."

"And now?" Harley prompted.

Pam was staring at the ceiling now. "I don't regret killing her. She was cruel. Unapologetically, undeniably, cruel. She taught me to be subservient, and although I rebelled against that for most of my life, I fell back on those teachings when I needed to reject them the most and ended up strapped to a table, in a basement, being brutalized by a man I'd submitted to at first, even though he wasn't what I wanted."

Harley drummed her fingers on Pam's ribcage. "What did you want?"

"Mmm…" Pam smiled a bit wistfully. "The librarian."

Harley raised her head to look at the other woman, quirking an eyebrow playfully. "Who was The Librarian?"

Pam laughed. "I don't know. I never asked. But she wore big, round glasses and her hair was never styled, not under any circumstances, so it would fall in her eyes when she leaned over, to, you know—"

"File books or whatever?" Harleen laughed.

Pam attempted a glare, but gave up rather quickly. "Yes, when she filed books or whatever. In hindsight, I may have spent a bit more time in the library than was strictly necessary."

"Oh my God, you nerd," Harley continued to laugh. "Did you put the nerd moves on her?"

"No," Pam was mildly offended. "The only conversations we ever had were exceedingly brief and were typically about the weather."

"You lived in Seattle." Harley reminded her. "What were your conversations like? ' _It's raining again_ '?"

"Well…yes, if you must know." Pam huffed. "I wasn't exactly as forward as a human and I'm sure she was straight."

"So is spaghetti…til it's wet." Harley winked.

"Oh my God, I married you." Pam realized, clearly horrified. "I had children with you."

Harleen giggled as she lay her head back down. "So why are you doing it now?"

"Because it's a legally binding document and Bruce already had to fast track the new license…"

"No! Why are you going by 'Lillian' now?"

"Oh…" Pam smiled since Harley wasn't looking. "Well I didn't choose it this time, but…I think maybe she would have liked that—if it had been OK to dream of such things. Maybe she'd have liked to be Dr. Lillian Isley."

"Or Rose."

"Or Rose."


	16. Chapter 16

"IT'S THE MORNING!" Jolene shouted with glee, although the sun had yet to fully rise. "You guys! You have to wake up now." She pulled herself up onto her parents' bed. "Hey!" She poked Harleen's cheek. "Hey, Mama. It's the mornin' time." She grabbed onto her face and attempted to force her eyelids open.

"Jo…" Harleen groaned, sleepily pushing the girl's hands away. "It's still too early. Santa hasn't even come yet."

"He has to! I already checked. All the presents are under the tree. Look!" She held up a sticky candy cane as evidence. "He put this in my stocking."

Harleen slowly blinked her eyes open, getting the darkened bedroom to come in to focus. Jolene smiled wider when she noticed and shoved her face against the woman's, pressing kisses all over her cheeks.

"Honey, that…" Harleen attempted to turn her face away. "That's a lot first thing in the morning."

"But I love you lots!" Jo reasoned. "Even in the mornin' time."

"Well that's very nice…" Harleen stretched. "Is your brother up?"

"Yeah, he's how come I got into the greenhouse. I'm not big enough to open it myself." Jo told her.

"And that's by design," Pam mumbled into her pillow, her eyes shut tightly.

"Yay!" Jolene exclaimed, wiggling up in between them. "Now everyone's awake so we can start Christmas.

"What time is it?" Pam asked.

Harleen lazily flopped over and unlocked her phone. "5:20."

"That's…ridiculous. We made a deal, Jo." Pam's eyes were still closed, out of protest, it seemed. "What was our deal?"

"Mmm…I don't remember." Jo giggled.

"She's lying." Pam mumbled.

"I know," Harleen sighed.

Jo grinned. "Look, Mama. I've been workin' on my handstand." She stood up on the bed and bounced once or twice before planting her hands and kicking her legs up. She was able to maintain the position for an impressive few moments, but the bed's surface was too soft and her little muscles ultimately failed her. When she landed, it was unfortunately with her foot in Pam's face.

"Goddamn it, Jo!" Her eyes shot open, blazing an angry green. But she only had time to take in Jolene's fear-stricken face for a moment before she felt sticky liquid dripping down over her lip.

"I didn't mean it, Mom!" Jo exclaimed, grabbing the bedsheet and pressing it roughly to the woman's nose as it bled.

The fabric began to smoke as soon as it made contact with the green liquid, and Pam smacked her hand away.

The girl's eyes grew wide and her lip quivered and Pam was immediately apologetic as she pinched her nose just below the bridge to stop the bleeding.

"I didn't mean it, Mom…" tears began to gather in Jo's green eyes.

Harleen gathered the girl up in her arms and kicked the soiled sheet down to their feet. "It's OK…" She soothed. "Mom's not mad, you just can't touch that stuff, remember? It'll hurt you."

"She is so mad," Jo insisted, her tears dampening Harley's nightshirt. "I just wanted to help because I hurt her."

"Well what the heck happened in here?!"

Pam, Harley and Jo all turned their attention to the doorway where Anthony was standing in his pajamas with snow on his boots.

"Your sister kicked me in the face." Pam told him, her voice nasally as she kept up the pressure.

"But I didn't mean it!"

"But she didn't mean it," Pam echoed.

"Did she break your nose?" Anthony asked, hands on his hips. "Because she breaks everything, so that would make sense."

"Mean!" Jo pointed at him accusatorily. "Can't be mean on Christmas."

"You said the same thing about Chanukah," he reminded her.

"That's Mama's Christmas." Jo explained, earning her an eyeroll from her brother.

"Hey," Harleen laughed. "No eyerolling on Christmas."

"Well then what can we do on Christmas?" Anthony asked.

Harleen grinned. "How about…OPEN PRESENTS?!" She began to mercilessly tickle Jolene, replacing her earlier tears with laughter.

Anthony was smiling too now, but it faded somewhat when he looked at Pam. "You alright, Mom?"

"Yes." She acknowledged, cautiously testing her slightly accelerated healing by taking her hands away from her nose.

"No gymnastics on the bed, Jolene." He scolded.

The girl stuck her fingers in her ears and screwed her eyes shut. "Na-na-na-na-gymnastics is for everywhere."

Anthony shook his head disapprovingly and retreated back down the hallway towards the stairs.

Jolene watched him go, but turned her attention to Pam when she heard her sigh. "I'm really sorry my foot hit your face on Christmas," she said, starring down at her lap.

Pam narrowed her eyes slightly, watching Jolene fiddle with her Powerpuff Girls pajama pants by poking Blossom in the eye. Finally, as a smirk played on her lips, Pam held out her arms to her daughter and Jolene perked up immediately, lunging forward into Pam's embrace

"Well…" Harleen sighed contentedly, getting up and pulling on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, "At least we're awake. Mission accomplished, Jo."

The girl beamed as she separated from Pam. "Yeah, I did a really good job, huh?"

"Mmm…something like that," Pam acknowledged, kissing Jo on the forehead before picking her up and setting her down on the ground. "I'll need to have those incinerated," she gestured to the rumpled-up sheets.

"That's because you're Pooooiiiiisssssson Ivy," Jo stomped on a crack in the wood floor. "And so only special little girls like me can hug you because you're my Mom."

"But…" Pam prompted.

"But nobody can touch your owies, not even Mama because then it would give us owies," Jo answered, a wide, self-satisfied smile on her face. "I know all the rules cuz I'm the smartest."

Pam got out of bed and cinched her robe around her waist. "Oh, really? What was the rule about Christmas morning?"

"That I couldn't wake ya up until 6-3-0," Jolene proudly put her hands on her hips, and it was only when Pam raised an eyebrow that she realized what she'd done. "Uh oh…"

"Yeah," Pam agreed, "Uh oh."

"Looks like we know who's gonna be opening their presents last," Harleen said. "Gotta work out those patience muscles."

"Patience muscles aren't real," Jo pouted.

The tree and the presents were kept in the greenhouse because Pam categorically refused to cut down a tree and bring it inside, and having a plastic tree would have been downright sacrilegious. So, instead, she just grew one out of the soil bottom of the greenhouse. They'd brought the record player in to provide some background music appropriate for the holiday. Perhaps it was a bit unconventional, but an attempt at something "traditional" had clearly been made.

Harleen sat on Pam's lap in the grass, mostly so she wasn't tasked with holding herself upright given the limited amount of sleep she'd had. She nursed a poorly prepared mug of coffee Anthony had brewed for her while they watched the kids separate their presents into distinct piles to make the opening more efficient. The wrapping paper was all, of course, made from recycled materials.

"Anthony first," Pam reminded Jolene, who already had her mitts on a package.

Smiling, Anthony dragged the largest box over to him and read the card aloud. "To Anthony, From…Nerd."

Harleen snickered and Pam rolled her eyes. "It's from me, Hon. Mama just wrote the card."

"Hey! And wrapped it!" Harley protested. "Give me credit where credit is due."

"It's wrapped very nicely, Mama." Anthony granted, making the first tear in the paper. He was only halfway through unwrapping it when he shot up to his feet. "No way!" He looked excitedly at his parents. "No way!"

Pam laughed. "Yes way."

"Did you get this from work?" Anthony wanted to know as he tore through the rest of the paper, revealing the robotics kit.

Pam nodded, "To my understanding, if programmed and assembled correctly, it will be able to both crawl and fly."

"I get to program it?!" Anthony looked at the box in awe. He couldn't believe it.

"Yes, but Victor said you might be a little too young for it. It's meant to accompany advanced robotics courses." Pam explained.

"No, I can do it." Anthony assured her. "I can totally do it."

"Recruiting your Justice League friends to get presents for the kids is cheating," Harley whispered.

"Cyborg is not my friend, and there aren't rules to gift-giving." Pam whispered back. "It's not a competition."

"It's totally a competition."

"Alright," Pam laughed. "Then how about you step up your game, Quinzel? Don't hate the player."

Jolene was beginning to squirm watching her brother examine his gift. She bit her lip looking at her pile of presents and even went as far as to sit on her hands to resist the temptation to just dive in. "Maaaammmmaaaaa," she finally whined, looking helplessly in her parents' direction.

Harley laughed. "Go ahead, Jo. And good patience."

The girl grinned almost maniacally and snatched the closest present to her, ripping the paper off with no reverence to speak of. Next she tore the lid of the garment box that she'd revealed…and then her jaw dropped. "It's so sparkly…" she murmured, reaching into the box to grab the bright blue, sequined leotard. "This is the sparkliest thing I've ever seen."

Harleen and Pamela both had to bite the inside of their cheeks to keep from laughing.

"What is it, Jo?" Harley asked.

She raised her eyes slowly. "Mama…" she clutched the fabric in her hands. "Its—Mama…"

"Yes?" Harleen giggled.

Tears began to well up in the girl's eyes. "It's a gymnastics outfit, Mama."

Harley knew it was inappropriate, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Jolene, why are you crying?"

"Cuz it's-cuz it's," she held the leotard up to the light, watching as it shimmered. "Cuz it's the prettiest outfit I ever saw."

"Turn it around, Jo. Look!" Anthony urged.

She did just that, and when she saw there was a Bat-symbol on the chest, she absolutely lost it, her tears of joy turning to full on sobs.

"Jolene," Harley sat forward and set her coffee down. "Jolene, would you like to put it on?"

"Yes, please." She cried, getting up and running over to Harley, thrusting the garment at her with both hands and turning her head away like it was too amazing to even look at anymore.

Jolene spent the remainder of the day doing cartwheels and handstands in front of the mirror, or kicking and punching the air, adding a "na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-BATMAN!" for good measure. Later that night, when Anthony had changed back into his pajamas to watch Elf, Jolene refused, electing to remain in the leotard instead.

"So how is that not cheating?" Pam whispered, looking at Jolene who lay fast asleep on the couch, using Anthony's shoulder as a pillow. He, too, was asleep, his glasses just barely clinging to the tip of his nose.

"Well, because I didn't ask for help," Harley smiled. "It's just a natural instinct." She shrugged.

Pam scoffed. "All she talks about is gymnastics. That's like if I said I had a "natural instinct" that water is wet."

"Sass on Christmas? How dare you," Harley chastised, playfully nudging the other woman.

"Harley…you're Jewish," Pam reminded her. "Please explain to me your fascination with this holiday."

The blonde smiled and interlaced their fingers. Looking down at them, she asked, "Do you remember our first Christmas together?"

Pam took a moment to piece together the timeline. "You were in your chair, right?"

"Mhm," Harley nodded. "And I was so depressed I completely forgot Chanukah. Just…forgot it."

"Well I would have reminded you, but—"

"You didn't know I was Jewish," Harley laughed.

"And I'm sorry about that," Pam said, her gaze now drifting to their hands as well. "I just never found the need for human religion, and that was…selfish of me. Looking back."

"It's alright," Harley chucked. "That's what you said back then, too. Because I saw you in that red sweater, remember? It was like Christmas Eve, I think, and you were wearing a red sweater and up against your green skin…I was like 'oh shit, it's Christmas already.'"

Pam's gaze hardened slightly. "And that made you very sad."

"Yeah," Harleen acknowledged. "It did. And you didn't get why. You said Christmas was a trillion-dollar promotion of botanical genocide."

"Which it is," Pam affirmed.

Harley smiled. "Which it is…But completely spacing an eight-night Holiday helped illuminate just how lost I really was."

"I don't remember that," Pam admitted.

"Well I do," Harley turned to look at her. "Because after I told you that, you took the laptop into your bedroom for like two hours with absolutely no explanation."

"Did I?" Pam laughed.

"Yeah…turns out, you were in there reading literally everything there is to know about Chanukah—because you're a thoughtful nerd—and you suggested that we celebrate all eight nights in one, which was so…not Poison Ivy of you."

Pam smiled as the memory slowly came back. "But you said 'no', it was too late. Might as well just celebrate Christmas."

"That's right," Harley laughed. "So…there are a lot of things I like about Christmas. I like the decorations and the food and the spirit of the Holiday…but my favorite thing about it is you."

"Why?" Pam asked. "Because I made an effort?"

"Mmm…I think I'd call it a sacrifice." Harley corrected.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as the credits began to roll on the movie.

"21 Christmases," Pam whispered.

Harley smiled. "Finally, our marriage doesn't need a fake ID."

Pam leaned her head against Harley's shoulder as Jo shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. "Do you want to take them up to bed?" Pam asked as the credits song switched to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

"No," Harley said, shrugging her off of her shoulder and standing up.

Pam raised an eyebrow and Harley extended a hand. Questioningly, Pam took it and was helped to her feet. With a small smile on her lips, Harley gently placed her hand on Pam's hip and kept hold of the other one, swaying slightly with the music. Pam took her cue and draped her hands over Harleen's shoulders, leaning in and resting her face in the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath as they moved in unison.

Harley wrapped her other arm around Pam's waist and pulled her closer. "I wish we could have 21 more like this," she murmured.

"Well I'm not going anywhere," Pam smiled, kissing the soft skin below her lips.

"But I am," Harleen reminded her, and as she did she felt Pam suddenly clutch a bit tighter.

"We don't have to talk about that now."

"But we will someday," Harley said. "Maybe someday soon. Anthony is 10 already, Jo is 5…I told you it would all move quickly."

Pam nodded subtly, still not loosening her grip.

"The other moms in the PTA think I married a younger woman," Harleen chuckled. "Pretty soon they'll be calling me a cougar." Her neck began to feel damp where Pam's face was pressed, so she kissed the top of her head, knowing Pam was upset, but knowing it would upset her more if Harley saw her cry. "We're going to have to explain it to the kids."

"I don't want it," Pam mumbled, her voice a bit shaky. "And I don't want things to change."

"Yeah, me neither…" Harley sighed. "I'm sorry I'm a human."

"You don't have to be," Pam whispered. "I could change you." The words were out before Pam could think better of them. She knew it was probably a mistake to ask that. It was something Pam had been thinking about for some time, but she'd never asked because then it would be out there. Final. A yes or no question. And Pamela knew in her heart that she would say no.

"Would you wish it upon anyone else?" Harleen asked. When Pam didn't answer, she stopped and put her hand under Pam's chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. She used her thumb to wipe her tears away and then asked, "Would you wish it upon me?"

Pam dropped her gaze. "If you asked me, I would."

"I'm not asking."

Pam's lip quivered, and as a new tear rolled down her cheek, she lunged forward and kissed Harley—hard. Like she was trying to stop this moment from spinning out of control. Trying to control something. Trying to keep Harley there and never let her go.

The song had long since ended, the DVD had looped back to the menu, but there Pam stood with her fingers threaded through Harley's hair, Harley's strong arms still wrapped around her waist.

"I'm yours as long as I'm here," Harley murmured once they broke apart. "But I—I can't stay forever."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's note: This is as close to an 'M' rated chapter as we're going to get with this story.**

"Jolene…" Harley sighed. "Please get off the counter."

The girl was in a crouched position, biting her tongue where it stuck out of her mouth and scribbling with a crayon on a piece of paper. "Sorry, Mama. No can do. I'm drawin' a picture."

"I can see that," Harleen acknowledged. "But why do you need to stand on the counter to do it?"

"I gotta get the right vantage point to capture the light," Jo explained like it was obvious, her focus never wavering from the task at hand.

Harleen tried not to laugh. "The right vantage point?"

"It's all about perspective, Mama." Jo told her.

OK, well…now Harley was curious. She got up from the kitchen table and walked over to the counter, looking over Jo's shoulder at…stick figures. Of course they were just stick figures. She was 5. "They should go ahead and give you your art school diploma now."

"That's what I've been thinkin'," Jo agreed. She made some final touches on the sun in the sky and then proudly held it up for Harleen to see in all its glory.

The drawing depicted three people holding hands while standing in front of a house. "Wow…it's beautiful, Jolene." Harley moved in to examine the crayon marks more critically. "Is that me?" She pointed to the tallest figure.

"Yep!" Jo said. "And that's me," she pointed to the smallest. "And that's Anthony." She indicated the redheaded figure that held her left hand while Harley took her right. "It's our family!"

Harleen frowned slightly. "Where's Mom?"

Jo laughed. "At work. See?" She pointed to the sun in the sky. "Mom's not in our daytime family."

Anthony started his self-taught piano lesson in the other room and it threw off Harley's response formulation, so she just gently took the picture from the girl and went to hang it on the fridge.

"No!" Jo said, stopping Harley in her tracks. "That's a secret picture just for us. Mom will be sad if we hang it up and Mom is grumpy when she's sad."

Harleen turned around, her brow furrowed. "So then what do you think we should do with it?"

"Put it in a secret hiding spot," Jo suggested.

"Honey…" Harley leaned against the counter. "I don't think it's good to keep secrets from Mom."

"But she keeps secrets from the whole world, Mama. That way we can be safe." Jo reminded her. "I'm just keeping her safe from being sad."

/

Pam felt her back stick to the car seat as she pulled herself out. "The f—" she felt the spot with her hand and it came away red and sticky. "Of course!" Pam laughed mirthlessly. "Because why not?"

She yanked her bag from the passenger seat and slammed the door shut harder than was necessary. It was already 11pm, the lights were off in the house... _Thank Gaia_ , Pam thought, realizing Harleen was probably taking her nap before work and the kids were already asleep, meaning she could just take a quick shower and then crawl into bed.

Pam dropped her house keys as she pulled them from her bag, forcing her to wave her arms wildly trying to trigger the motion-sense porch light. When it didn't respond, Pam knocked her forehead against the door and whispered "FUUUCCCCCCKKKKK" in a clear attempt to reboot her mind, and that seemed to do the trick because the light switched on. "Thank you," she clasped her hands in front of her, looking towards the sky. "Thank you." And bent down and picked up her key, inserting it into the door and twisting the handle.

Once inside, her first move was to flick on the light, but she immediately regretted it, as it illuminated the foyer effectively enough to see that Harleen was sitting in the large chair in the living room wearing the "we need to talk" expression.

"No." Pam said, firmly. "No. Whatever it is—please, not right now."

Harleen was offended. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

Pam shook her head. "No…I know that look. I know what this is, and it's not happening. Not until I take a shower."

"Well…" Harley stood up, pulling down the hem of her t-shirt. "How about I join you?"

Pam regarded her critically as she set her bag down. "Fine. But only if you help me get this crap off my back," she turned around to show her the blood attempting to dry there. "And then we have sex because I really don't need a domestic quarrel right now."

"Oh my God, what happened?" Harleen was alarmed at what she thought was an open wound.

"Harley, is that what my blood looks like?" Pam asked.

"Oh, pfft," Harleen laughed, bonking herself on the forehead. "Duh. Who'd you kill?"

Pam squinted, affecting her best 'WTF face'. "Umm…you didn't know him."

"Wait…" Now Harleen was concerned. "You didn't actually kill anyone, did you?"

"No, Bruce wouldn't let me." Pam grumbled, before remembering there was another conversation they were supposed to be having. "So can I fuck you, or what?"

"Hey!" Harley was back to offended. "I resent that coarse language." But then Pam raised an eyebrow and Harley giggled immediately. "OK, no I don't."

Shaking her head, Pam started up the stairs and the blonde was quick to follow. Their voices changed to whispers as they passed the kids' rooms.

"But we do need to talk…can we try to multitask?"

"Are you serious right now?"

"Dead serious."

Pam closed their bedroom door behind them, returning her voice to conversational volume. "Harleen, no offense, but you aren't exactly the most…coherent lover. How do you expect—"

"How could I _not_ take offense to that?"

Pam mulled that over for a moment. "How _could_ you take offense to that?" She left Harley there with her brow furrowed in favor of the bathroom where she pulled her tank top up over her head, but as soon as she got the garment off, there was Harley again, inches from her face. "Fuck, Harl." She jumped, startled.

…Something her wife ignored. "I think we ask the kids to keep too many secrets."

"No, Harleen. No means no. Just give me like 10 minutes. Please." Pam implored.

Harleen sighed, sliding her arms around Pam's waist and slipping her hands into the waistband of her leggings, pushing them down past her hips. "I just…between asking them to maintain your secret identity and not telling them where I go at night…"

"You just brought up two contradictory examples," Pam leaned back against the glass of the shower as Harley inched her pants down over her thighs, leaving them to pool around her ankles.

"I'm honestly not sure which one is worse anymore." Kneeling down, Harley helped her step out of the fabric and then tossed them into the corner of the room. She pressed a kiss to Pam's abdomen. "I used to think it was obviously keeping a secret that big _from_ them, but now I realize," she dragged her lips down to Pam's hip bone and gently nipped at the skin there. "asking _them_ to keep a secret that big might actually be in a shadier moral area."

"Well you're the one that," Pam reached down and grabbed the back of Harley's t-shirt, pulling it off as Harley helped her by raising her arms. "Said we needed to explain the extent of my powers to them. That's just going to—mmm—" Haleen had her panties between her teeth. "Further complicate things."

"Things are already complicated," the blonde muttered through clenched teeth as she dragged that garment down as well. "What I'm saying is…"

"Yes, what are you saying?" Pam demanded. "Because I really don't underst—ah," her hands suddenly fisted in Harleen's hair and the blonde held up a finger to indicate it would be a moment before she got her response. "The sh—the shower," Pam mumbled, her eyes closing of their own accord. "We're—we're wasting water."

Evidently determining she was right, Harley stood up, and in one move opened the shower and pushed Pam backwards into it. She stumbled slightly, but Harley was pressing her into the wall before she had time to actually slip. Harley made no move to shield herself—or her sweatpants and sports bra—from the water spraying out of the shower head.

"What I'm saying is…" she moved Pam's now wet hair out of her face to kiss her. "I think forcing the kids into our lie might have some," she slipped her index finger into Pamela's mouth. "Lasting negative psychological consequences."

Pam rolled her eyes as she sucked on the other woman's finger. "You know; water is actually a pretty effective lubricant."

Harley's eyes widened like she was surprised at this information and she quickly removed her finger. "Thank goodness I married a doctor, otherwise I'd never be privy to such advanced solutions to the complexities of human anatomy."

"I'm not that kind of doctor."

"Oh, you're right." Harleen smiled, placidly. "I am." And with that, she wrapped her arm around Pam's waist and drove her up the wall.

Pam bit down on Harley's shoulder as the blonde set their pace.

Harley gasped before gritting her teeth and pressing her forehead into the tile wall, her lips brushing against Pam's ear with each push. "I'm worried we might be asking too much of them."

"Well that's not what—that's not what I—" Pam was trying her best to get her sentence out.

"Honestly, Pamela," Harley laughed. "Must you be so incoherent?"

Pam's response was to bite down harder until she apologized, and when she did, Pam forced the rest out: "That's not what I want for them. But it's a necessary evil. We knew that—mmm—going in."

Harley's pants were so soaked now their own weight was dragging them down off of her hips. "I hate that everything has to be so complicated." She added a second finger and picked up the pace.

"They're—fuck," she grabbed Harley's face and kissed her roughly. "They're happy kids, right? That's what you're always—fuck—telling me."

"Yeah…"

"Then let's not get ahead of ourselves," Pam suggested, snaking her hand up the back of Harley's sports bra and digging her nails in. It wasn't much longer before she fell apart with a cry that Harley muffled with a kiss.

"See?" Harley grinned. "We're incredible multitaskers." Pam glared in response and Harley wrapped a wet lock of red hair around her finger, smiling at how the water had darkened it to Anthony's coloring. "The kids miss you when you're gone…"

"You know…" Pam sighed. "I think I'd prefer we not discuss the children in this context." She shut off the water and reached back to unclasp the bra she'd neglected to remove, helping Harley out of hers as well.

"Maybe you should—" Harley looked down at her feet. "Maybe you should come home."

"I am home." Pam helped her out of her sweatpants.

"It's midnight, Pam." Harley reminded her. "Just…look, the Justice League stuff is mandatory, I know that. But if you dropped the lab job, you could be here when they get home from school—if you're not on-call, I mean. Wouldn't that be nice? The four of us? We have the money, Pam. You know we do. And I'm still in negotiations for this book deal, but I know it'll be—"

"Would Dr. Quinzel agree?" Pam asked.

"What?"

"On my release papers you stated that 'Poison Ivy should maintain a civilian occupation as well as fulfill her contract with The Batman. She requires constant mental stimulation, and without a replacement of purpose from her current villain alignment, she will continue to be a menace to society.'" Pam reminded her, quoting the report word-for-word and crossing her arms over her chest. "So, Harleen, I'm curious what Dr. Quinzel would think of your suggestion."

"She'd think—yes! Well…Yeah, duh." Harley laughed.

"Honey…" Pamela swept her up into a kiss. "I think you might be a little biased."

Harley sighed. "Just…think about it, alright? They're gonna hate both of us pretty soon, and that job will always be there for you. After the kids leave, after I…you know…just—let's spend as much time together as possible while you still want to see me naked."

Pam laughed. "Is that what this is about?"

"Well sorta," Harley admitted with a smile that quickly turned sad. "And I want you to be a part of our daytime family."


	18. Chapter 18

Pamela had always been a careful person. She had an analytical mind. A scientific thought-process. She had never been the sort of villain to break things just for the sake of it. She wasn't Joker. Her lifeblood was not chaos.

So it had taken some time. Taken a lot of time. But she had finally arrived at a decision.

She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head as she pulled up to the gate at Wayne Manor.

" _Who is it?_ " A male voice came from the intercom.

"I know you can see me," Pam waved. "Just let me in."

" _Who is it?_ " The voice repeated.

"It's Ivy! Who the fuck does it look like?!"

" _Well…Aquawoman, sorta_."

"Dick," Pam's patience was already gone. "I know it's you. Just open the fucking gate."

" _You in a bad mood?_ "

"Not until this exchange, I wasn't."

" _Fine_." Dick's spirits had clearly been dampened and so he forfeited, opening the gate for her.

...but only halfway, trapping her car between the doors so she couldn't move forward.

"Dick! You're going to scratch my car, you…"

" _Dick?_ "

Pam sighed, leaning back in her seat. "Yeah."

Dick laughed, opening the gate the rest of the way. " _Come on in_."

Selina was sitting at the kitchen bar eating a bowl of cereal when Pam let herself in. She had clearly just been through a workout as she was dressed in a pair of spandex shorts and a sweaty tank top.

"Hey," Selina greeted, not looking up from whatever she was reading on her phone as she took another bite of…Honey Combs. _Jolene would spit that back on the counter_ , Pam thought. "This gossip rag thinks I had plastic surgery."

Pam sighed. "You have to ignore that stuff, Selina. It's all trash."

Selina shrugged. "I guess I'm vain…Oh, hey, did you see the Gotham Star this week?"

"No…" Pam sat down, tossing her car keys onto the counter. "Did Hillary Clinton pop out another alien baby? Or did they finally decide to leave her alone?"

"Ha," Selina scoffed, navigating to the magazine's homepage. "Like that'll ever happen. No, here…" She passed Pam the phone, who took it apprehensively. "They seem to think Batman and Poison Ivy are fucking." Selina translated the headline that was splayed overtop a picture of the two on a rooftop wherein Ivy had her hand on Batman's chest.

"That is such bullshit!" was Pam's immediate reaction. "I'm not sleeping with Bruce! I have _never_ slept with Bruce."

Selina laughed. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. And what happened to 'you just have to ignore it. It's all trash'?"

Pam ignored her. "That picture is being taken completely out of context."

"So what was the context?" Selina wanted to know.

"I was…" Pam had to think for a moment. "Oh! I was telling him how ugly I thought my new suit was." Pam remembered.

"Yeah, not a fan of the teal." Selina agreed. "The black was a lot sexier."

"Thank you." Pam breathed a sigh of relief at their shared opinion. "And then I told him I didn't like his logo redesign either, and I had to show him where I thought the bat wings were too fat."

Selina laughed. "Makes total sense to me."

"Where do they get off reporting outright lies?" Pam demanded. "See, this is the true human condition. Just this festering—"

"You need to calm yourself." Selina said. "Just…chill, please." She waited until Pam was starring angrily down into her lap before continuing. "Now why are you here, bugging me on a Saturday? Isn't there a…child's soccer game you should be at or something?"

That seemed to turn Pam around rather quickly, because when she looked up to meet Selina's eyes, it was with a warm smile on her face. "Flag Football, actually. I never much saw the appeal, but Jolene is very passionate about it."

Selina chuckled. "Jo is the one playing football? Not Anthony?"

"Oh, no." Pam shook her head. "Anthony isn't exactly enamored by athletics. He's a fairly talented pianist, though. And a—"

"Pam!" Selina stopped her, looking almost terrified as the redhead threatened to rattle on. "Why are you here?"

"Oh—I…I need to talk to Bruce." Pam said.

"Mm." Selina grunted, dismissively, getting up and beckoning for Ivy to follow her into the elevator. She silently pressed the button and crossed her arms as the car took them up to the top floor where Pam knew Bruce's study was located.

"You…" Pam cleared her throat. "You look good…"

Selina stared straight ahead. "Thanks."

Then the elevator dinged and Selina led them out into the hallway, passing a few bedrooms and the library until Selina was opening a large oak door, revealing Bruce working at his computer.

"I'd appreciate a knock…" He intoned, not acknowledging them further.

"Noted." Selina and Pam said together…with the same snide cadence. They turned to look at each other, both with an arched eyebrow, and then Bryce was looking at them too, his eyes narrowed.

"What is this…?" She asked, cautiously.

"I don't know," Selina plopped down in the leather chair in the corner. "Ask Pam."

Bruce looked at Pam expectantly, and she swallowed. "Firstly…did you receive my memo?"

He sat back in his chair, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Sighing, he asked: "Which one? If it's about your suit—I'm sorry the color palette is not to your liking."

"It's just—it's really ugly, Bruce!" Pam complained. "Booster keeps calling me 'Mera', and I can't even argue because the reality is I look like a goddamn seahorse in that thing!"

"I thought you would appreciate an updated color scheme."

"Why, Bruce? Why?!" Pam demanded. "Do I seem like the kind of person that appreciates a drastic change of appearance?"

"She's got a reputation to protect, Bruce." Selina helped her out.

"I've got a reputation to protect, Bruce!" Pam seconded.

Bruce was massaging his temples, his eyes closed in a clear attempt at something approaching 'zen'. "For you, Pamela, I will take another look at the design."

"Great," Selina pulled herself out of her chair. "Glad we got that settled."

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked, watching as she moved towards the door.

"To steal something." Selina had her hand on the knob. "And if either of your assholes try to stop me I'm going straight to the Gotham Star to tell them Pam lets you take her from behind. And by that I mean up the—"

"Selina!" Pam was horrified.

But Bruce sat with his brow furrowed, mulling that over. "I fail to see how that would reflect negatively on me." Before he'd even finished his sentence, though, the potted plant on his desk began to tremble, mirroring Ivy's look of fury as her fists clenched. "Oh…got it." He uneasily moved the plant to the ground. "Keep the price tag under one million."

"Two!" Selina negotiated.

"One and a quarter."

"One and a half!"

"Fine." Bruce waved her away and she shut the door behind her with a satisfied smile.

Pam turned to him once she was gone, her arms crossed, residual anger still marring her fair features.

"I always pay them back," Bruce assured her. He watched as the redhead rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "So what do you actually want? Because there's no way you came up here on your day off just to complain about the shade of green I used on your suit."

"Right…" Pam cleared her throat and reached into the pocket of her jacket, producing her S.T.A.R. labs ID card. Silently, she slid it across his desk.

"What's this?" He asked, pointing to it without picking it up.

"I—I'm retiring." She told him. "For this lifetime, anyway."

"What?"

"I would like to forfeit my position at S.T.A.R. labs for the time being." Pam clarified.

"I don't understand…" Bruce sat forward. "I gave you everything you could have wanted."

"OK, first of all," Pam crossed her arms again. "You didn't _give_ me anything. The PhD I _earned_ qualified me for this position."

"Well, fine," Bruce conceded that point. "But this is maybe _the_ premier position in your chosen field. How could you possibly be unhappy?"

"I'm not. I'm very happy." Pam told him. "But…I'm confident I can continue to make contributions to science without spending my days in a lab. I'd rather—I'd rather be at home for now."

"Pamela," Bruce sighed. "You know I can't allow that. In your release paperwork it explicitly states that—"

She cut him off: "My psychiatrist signed off on it."

Bruce stopped, looking at her with something approaching pity. "Pamela…"

"My psychiatrist, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, has given my proposal her blessing." Pam said, slower this time. "I hear she's married with two kids now, which is just…fantastic, don't you think? So glad she could move in a healthy direction after the tragedy that befell her in her early adulthood."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, but Ivy didn't squirm or waver under his judgement. Just sat there, one leg crossed over the other, her hands folded neatly in her lap, with the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "Dr. Quinzel is no longer employed by Arkham Asylum." Bruce reminded her.

"True," Ivy granted. "But she is still involved with their outpatient program, assigned to special cases of patients she, herself, helped to treat. The mentally ill aren't known for taking kindly to change, you see. Arkham didn't want to interrupt my healing, and Dr. Quinzel was more than happy to stay on as my doctor." She absently traced her finger over her thigh. "Some say she took a liking to me."

"Can't imagine why." Bruce gritted.

Ivy smiled. "Five years ago you offered me a deal. You said my family would be taken care of. That's not what I want. I don't need your money—although I have signed a few of my patents over to you, and those, in time, will repay the funds you donated to my…genetics project."

"That wasn't intended as a loan," Bruce told her. "We agreed it was a gift."

"Yes, well…that was then." Ivy stood up. "But now I'm beginning to resent the leverage you have over me."

"Is this even what you want?" Bruce asked. "Truly?"

Ivy smoothed down her skirt. "It took me two years to come to this decision, and it's not without some trepidation. But yes, it is what I want." She started for the door, leaving her ID card on his desk. "Oh!" Pam spun around. "I almost forgot—Harl wanted me to remind you that Jo's game is at 2 today, in case you wanted to come."

"Is that today?" Bruce sounded a bit regretful.

"Yeah, it's the last game of the season so we were planning to go out to dinner afterwards." Pam informed him. "Barbara is supposed to accompany us for that portion of the afternoon…and…Well, Selina didn't seem all that interested, but you've been invited anyway."

"I'll see if I can push something back."

/

The day was a bit overcast and windy, certainly. Gotham City wasn't exactly known for its pristine weather conditions, after all, and although spring was usually the exception, this day was not. Jo had refused to wear pants…or a sweatshirt…not that Harleen was modeling the best behavior, either, with her jean shorts and ¾ sleeve t-shirt ensemble. For some reason, even without the sun, she'd elected to wear a baseball cap over her ponytail.

"Are we going to watch Jo or your office softball game?" Pam asked as they approached the field, Jo skipping ahead of them and Anthony following just behind.

Harleen looked down at her clothing, at first not totally understanding Pam's joke. "Oh," She chuckled. "No, I just left my 'I'M A LESBIAN!' sign at home. Needed some other way to communicate that."

Pam laughed. "I think your shorts would have to be a bit longer to make that explicit."

"Damn it, you're right." Harley set her lawn chair down by the edge of the field and quickly pulled Pam into a kiss that may have lasted just a bit too long. "In the spirit of explicitness…" Now Harley was looking over Pam's shoulder and animatedly greeting a couple that was starring. "Hi! I'm Harleen."

"Y—yes, we know," the woman stammered as Jolene pranced back over to Pam for a final hair adjustment.

"Oh, of course!" Harley acted like she was embarrassed. "You're Simon's parents."

"And you're Jolene's Mom," the woman acknowledged, eyeing the girl in question where Pam was tightening her ponytail.

Jolene herself caught the woman's wandering eyes and smiled, "And this is my other mom." She patted Pam on the shoulder. "I have two moms…which is sorta like having a Mom and a Dad, except for better because boys are terrible."

Pam smiled slyly.

"But not Anthony," Jo amended. "Brothers are the best."

Anthony was sitting down in his own lawn chair at this point, initially watching the exchange with some indifference, but now charmed by his sister despite himself.

Pam leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek once she'd finished. "Have a good game," she told her.

"Oh, don't worry, Mom. I will." Jo winked, before turning and sprinting across the field towards her team's bench.

And Pam rose to her feet, brushing off her skirt and smiling as pleasantly as she could muster. "I'm Lillian, it's a pleasure." The man was grinning stupidly, so Pam elected to shake the woman's hand.

"I've never seen you before…" The man said, dreamily.

So _maybe_ Pamela could have reduced her pheromone output just _slightly_ …but she'd always found this effect enjoyable. The woman was starring questioningly at her husband, who was basically drooling at this point. Pam ran a hand through her hair for good measure, and bit her lip just because she could.

Harley's attention had already moved to something else. "No way," she said under her breath.

Pam looked as well, to see Selina making her way over from the parking lot, her heels getting stuck in the mud every few feet.

"Hey!" Harley waved her over.

Pam could see her eye roll from here, but decided to sit down since Harley and Selina could handle themselves now. She was grateful every day that she no longer had to play the role of the kindly intermediary.

When Selina arrived, the first thing Pam noticed was the shiny diamond necklace she was displaying over her coat. At least she'd been productive. Pam had to grant her that. It became clear as the first half began that Bruce couldn't make it, so he'd tagged Selina in, which was just as well, being that she and Pamela's discussions of civilian life had always flowed more easily than with Bruce. Harleen spent most the game on her feet, cheering obnoxiously as Jo barreled down defenders. It seemed that Jo had missed the boat on this being flag football rather than tackle. But regardless of the ethics of Jo's playing style—she was successful with it, accounting for all of her team's touchdowns and most of their defensive stops.

Anthony sat and watched like Jolene's behavior was normal. Like it happened every week…which it probably did, Pam realized. In all honestly, it had been some time since Pam had taken a Saturday off to actually come and watch the game. Previously, she'd only seen Jo play through videos recorded on Harley's phone. But Jo clearly wasn't trying to be a bully…she wasn't overly aggressive, really. More just…physically dominant. Her movements were fluid, she was quicker on her feet and more coordinated than the other children—all boys, by the way. Harleen was extremely athletic, and by all accounts had been that way from a young age, but Jo seemed…enhanced, somehow.

Pamela looked down at her toned legs showing beneath her skirt, and then over at Anthony who, although only twelve, had visible separations in his arm muscles. _Oh_ …Pamela hadn't really considered those implications before. Jolene was enhanced. They all were. Harleen didn't look out of place in their family, but that was because she spent hours in the gym every day and her nights running around the city. Jo had an unfair advantage here. Maybe that didn't matter today, but someday it might.

Pam filed a mental note to run further tests in order to determine the extent to which her DNA was affecting her children. She probably should have done that earlier, but most of her focus had been on how they would mature mentally and if they would appear human. She hadn't factored in Harley's athletic influence and their likely need to assimilate into that culture. But…she couldn't perform the tests at the lab because she wasn't employed there anymore…something she had yet to make Harley aware of.

Now she was staring at her wife uneasily from across the table at the pizza parlor Jolene had chosen. Pam's stomach clenched as she remembered the last big decision she'd made on her own…but Harley had asked for this one. True it had been two years since that late-night conversation, but there were things to put in place. Pros and cons to weigh. And…no, they hadn't spoken about it since, but Harley hadn't retracted her request…so…there was no reason for Pamela to think her honoring that would be met with any resistance.

"Mom…" Anthony nudged her gently, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Jolene wants to know if you saw her knock Simon over."

Pam blinked, shifting her gaze from Harleen to Jo, who was wearing an expectant smile on her face, her medal still draped proudly around her neck.

"Yes…Yes, Darling." Pam assured her. "Yes, I saw it."

"Whadd'ja think?" Jo asked with a toothy grin.

"Well, he was on your team, no?" Pam inquired. "Isn't the goal of the sport to knock the opposition over?"

"Yeah," Jo giggled. "But I didn't really like the way his Mom and Dad were lookin' at'cha. Because I don't think people should be surprised if someone has two moms…and I was just really happy you came to watch me. Did you…" she absently fingered her medal. "Did you think I did a good job?"

Pam smiled warmly. "So good, Jolene."

The girl's cheeks flushed and she had to turn her smile away from Pam, now starring down at the medal around her neck. "Thank you."

Tonight. Pamela would tell Harley tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

Selina and Pam stood on the curb, watching Harleen and Barbara conversing outside the restroom as they waited for Jo. Anthony was already in the car.

"Why the crutches?" Selina asked, breaking the silence, surprising Pam in the process as she had evidently forgotten the other woman was still there. "She's done with the chair, or…?"

"Experimental surgery," Pam's tone made it clear her words should have been in air quotes.

Selina leaned back against her car. "She couldn't make a full recovery?"

"We thought that was a little far-fetched. For now, at least."

Selina nodded until she was looking down at her feet. After a brief pause, she cleared her throat. "Is she happy?"

"Well, the chair was rather cumbersome," Pam answered. "It will certainly be helpful logistically."

"And what about you leaving your job? Is she happy about that?" She glanced over at Pam, who was looking at her with a curious expression. "Bruce and I have very few secrets." She quickly explained.

Jolene was probably making a mess of the soap dispenser, Pamela assumed, as that was the only explanation for what was taking so long. "I haven't told her yet," she mumbled.

A smirk spread across Selina's lips. "Yeah…I thought that might be the case." She pulled her hand in a fist out of her jacket pocket and held it out to the redhead.

With a raised eyebrow, Pam offered an open palm and a necklace was deposited into it. More understated than the one Selina was wearing around her neck, but still beautiful. "What's this for?" Pam asked.

"For in case you need to smooth things over," Selina explained.

Pam examined it, admiring how the glow of the streetlight reflected in the metal. "You stole this for her?"

"I thought I'd donate to a good cause," Selina looked satisfied with herself, but scuffed her heel on the pavement like she was unsure about something. Maybe even shy. "This is going to sound a cheesy," she began, her voice a bit quieter than normal, "but I'm proud of you, Ivy. You are honestly the most stubborn asshole I know and I just wanted to commend you on how far you've come." She cleared her throat. "I know you think Harl changed you, but other people can only inspire us to change. That influence is external. The actual mechanism—the action—comes from within us. Or, at least that's what the people at my AA meetings shove down my throat every night. So…give her credit if you want to, but at the end of the day, you have this life because you wanted it. Because you went out and got even if it meant feeling vulnerable, which I know you really fucking hate."

Pam was still starring down at the necklace. She didn't quite know what to say. She and Selina's relationship had always been complicated, to say the least. They defended each other to the world, sure, but in a one-on-one setting, things often got heated. Tempers flared. They were both too similar and too distinct…but, "Thank you." Pam said, finally meeting the woman's eyes. Green that seemed to shine just as brightly as the necklace under the lights. "This was…thoughtful."

"Yes, well—I'm a wonderful person."

/

"Dodo bird." Jo said as Pam pulled out of the parking lot, Harleen offering a final wave to Barbara.

Anthony rolled his eyes, "That's too easy."

"If it's so easy, then what's the answer?" Jo teased.

"1662." He told her, matter-of-factly.

"OK…" Jo furrowed her brow in thought. "Black Rhino."

"West African Black Rhinoceros," Anthony corrected.

"West Africa Black Rhinoceros," Jo repeated. "Now quit stallin!"

"Last reported sighting was 2006, but it wasn't officially declared extinct until 2011," Anthony proudly informed her.

"Hey, guys?" Harleen said from the front seat. "How about we don't play extinct species tonight. It sorta bums everyone out."

"Well if humans hadn't been so careless…" Pam and Anthony mumbled simultaneously.

"Ha!" Jo laughed. "Jinx! You guys owe me a coke."

"That's not the way jinxes work, Jolene," Anthony grumbled, turning his gaze out the window.

"Yeah, well, whatever happened to natural selection, huh?" Jo sat forward. "Didn't know I was bein' raised by a family that hates Darwin."

"I don't hate Darwin!" Anthony shot back. "You can accredit some extinctions to natural selection, like…sure, the Dodo bird, but in modern times, causes of extinction can more often than not be attributed to human activity and carelessness." He had a rapt audience in his sister, but a critical one. "Habitat destruction, increased human population, pollution, global warming, overhunting and fishing, poaching, introducing alien species into an enviornment…these are all factors, Jo, and they're all man-made."

"Mom!" Jo shouted. "What's the definition of Natural Selection? Word-fer-word."

Pam switched on her turn signal. "A natural process that results in the survival and reproductive success of individuals or groups best adjusted to their environment and that leads to the perpetuation of genetic qualities best suited to that particular environment." Harleen rolled her eyes, so Pam amended her statement with, "That's according to Webster's, anyway."

"OK, see?!" Jo said. "If humans are the dominant species, how come that's not still Natural Selection? Our genetic-whatevers are just best suited for the environment, that's all."

"Alrighty then," Harleen turned around. "How about you guys take a deep breath, huh? Your Mother is barely clinging to 'biggest nerd' status right now, and that's alarming, frankly."

Anthony and Jo both had their arms crossed sulkily over their chests at this point, but participated in Harley's breathing exercise none-the-less.

"That's a dumb argument, Jolene," Anthony mumbled once Harley had turned back around.

"No, you're a dumb argument!" was Jo's counter.

"Mom, she's being so childish! Please tell her to shut-up." Anthony begged.

"Well that's probably cuz I am a child," Jo reminded him, and not exactly gently.

Pam cleared her throat as she rounded the final corner towards home. "It is the obligation of the most evolved and advanced species to have discernment, just as it's our job as your parents to keep your best interests in mind." She pulled into the driveway and shut the car off. "I understand the constructs of your argument, Jolene. And you're right, if we were going solely off of the black and white clinical definition of that theory, from the standpoint of strict Darwinian adherence, I might be inclined to agree. But human beings need to take responsibility for their actions. And so, in that spirit, Anthony will be the bigger person and accept his victory with grace. Right?"

In response, Anthony unbuckled his seatbelt so that he could reach over and hug his sister. She pouted a bit at first, but was quickly overcome with affection and squeezed him back.

"Wait!" Harleen whipped out her phone, stopping them before they could break apart to take a picture. But did, eventually, allow them to go inside. Anthony headed straight for the piano while Jolene elected for a spot on the couch, flopping down and grabbing the TV remote.

"One show." Pam instructed. "You can watch one show and then you've got a chapter to read."

"Bleh," Jo spat, but sighed and nodded once she'd been fixed with a look, then sunk deeper into the pillows and navigated to Cartoon Network.

Harleen started up the stairs to change into something warmer, Pam looked like she was about to follow, but hesitated at the bottom with her hand on the rail. "You OK?" Harley asked.

"I—yes, I'm just thirsty," Pam quickly abandoned the stairs in favor or the kitchen, and Harleen looked after her questioningly until she'd ducked out of sight. With a shrug in Anthony's direction (who was studying Pam's behavior as well) she resumed her journey up the stairs, tossing her purse onto the bed before heading into the closet.

It was a minute or two before she heard the floor creek in the hallway.

"Why are you being weird?" Harley called out. "Did Selina say something to you?" She could feel Pam's eyes on her from the doorway before the woman approached, slowly, almost cautiously… Then Harley felt warm hands on her shoulders, moving down her arms and back up. Pamela cleared her throat, and Harley pressed against her, smiling at the feeling of Pam's chest on her back. "You were quiet today."

Harley heard the jingling of delicate metal, and just as she was about to turn around, Pamela was draping a silver chain around neck. She pulled a bit when clasping it into place and Harley giggled. "Is this how you murder me? How elegant."

Pam chuckled warmly into her ear. "If that was my endgame you'd have been plant food some time ago."

"Well that's…reassuring?" Harley looked down at the necklace. "Did I…is it our anniversary?"

"No…" Harley could feel Pam's smile against her neck. "But I have news."

"News?" The blonde chuckled, spinning around in her arms. "Come hither, brave traveler. What news do you bring?"

Pam attempted her usual affectionate eye roll at Harley's ridiculousness, but swallowed this time. It was subtle, but still an admission of some degree of anxiety. Evidently steeling her resolve, she moved forward and pressed her forehead against Harley's, taking a deep breath before saying, "I left my job."

Harley put a few inches of space between them, as if more distance would improve her hearing. "You what?"

Pam body language turned to defensive almost instantaneously. "I thought about what you said—about the kids missing me, and I…I left. I decided to come home. Like you asked me to."

"No—I—yes, but," So yeah, that's barely English. "Pam, you actually quit your job?"

"Well, no…I forfeited my position for the time being." The redhead clarified. "I didn't quit."

"Pam, are you—are you serious right now?" Harley wasn't sure if she wanted to smile or furrow her brow, so her expression ended up a confusing compromise. "You just…left? Just like that? Just out of the blue? After all this time?"

"No!" Pam quickly came to her own defense, although what she was defending herself against, Harley wasn't quite sure. The bad memory from the last time she'd 'brought news', likely. "A transition like this takes time and thorough contemplation. I've been putting things into place since we spoke, preparing for my absence from that world."

Harley stepped back fully, dropping her wife's hands. "Pamela Isley, if we have to move again I swear to fucking God…"

Pam was visibly relieved at the topic of Harley's concern. "That's not what I mean. I just had to add some equipment to my home lab and finish up a project."

"For two years?" Harley was fairly incredulous. More than she'd meant to be, maybe.

The redhead frowned. "I thought you would be happy about this…"

"Fuck, Pam, I am! I totally am. This is just all so…sudden, and a bit…well, too good to be true. I guess I'm just waiting for the catch. And—and you love your job, Babe."

"Yes…" Pam acknowledged. "But I also love you very much. You and the kids, and I want to be with you as often as I can. And…and I know it sounds silly, but I miss you when I'm gone. And while it's true on my worst days I am more effective than the people who make up my staff are on their best, I don't believe in giving partial effort or attention. It's unfair to all parties involved, and I have been distracted lately, mostly by thoughts of you all. So…" Pam glanced down at her feet briefly before returning her gaze to Harleen. "I choose you. I've decided to choose you."

Harleen was crying by this point. Because, of course she was crying.

This time, Pamela was successful with her affectionate eye roll. "Every time, Harleen? Must this be your reaction every time I give a speech?"

"Oh sue me for utilizing my tear ducts," The blonde laughed as she wiped the salty liquid away from her eyes. "But really, it's you that should be crying for me."

"Oh? Why's that?" a hint of a smile played on Pam's lips.

"With you at home, I fear the frequency of debates on Darwinism will increase." Harley said, trying her very best to keep a straight face. "I knew Anthony was a goner, he wears glasses, after all, but Jolene is still young and naïve and impressionable and I'm afraid you'll have your hooks in her before I can save her from an Ivy League education."

Pamela smirked, sauntering forward and wrapping her arms around Harley's waist. "I hate to break it to you, Daffodil," she leaned in and ghosted her lips up the other woman's neck, "But Jolene is 7 years old and familiar enough with Charles Darwin to casually cite his theories as evidence in a debate…" she planted a kiss at the base of her jaw. "I'm fairly certain I've already got her."

"Mmm…How cruel," Harley pulled the other woman's face upwards to give her a proper kiss. "And here I thought Poison Ivy had turned a new leaf…"

"…"

"…see what I did there?"

"…"

"Pam, did you see what I did there?"

"Yes, Harley. I did."

"'Leaf' because of the whole, you're a plant thing."

"Yes, thank you, Harley. I got it."


	20. Chapter 20

"But, why?" Anthony was confused. "Your job is awesome, Mom. Why would you leave it just so you can hang out with us more? People have to work. That's what you guys always say."

"Yes," Pam acknowledged. "But I am a…unique case."

"How come?" Jolene asked. "Cuz of the that?" She pointed to Ivy's green hands peeking out from her long-sleeved shirt. "Cuz you already have a job saving the world cuz you're Poison Ivy?"

"Well…yes and no," Pam said after a brief hesitation. "Yes, but not exactly for the reason you think."

"OK…" Jo sat back, crossing her arms and eyeing her Mom suspiciously. "So what's the reason?"

Pam drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, glancing over at Harley for some moral support. Harley offered a small, reassuring nod, and with a sigh, Pam pulled a shoebox out from under her chair and set it gently on the table in front of her.

Jolene moved onto her knees and leaned forward over the table to get a closer look as Pam pulled the lid back. Inside was a stack of photographs, along with some dried rose petals and what seemed to be shards of broken porcelain. The girl frowned. "How come ya keep dead flower in a shoebox, Mom?"

"That's not important right now," Pam said quickly, lifting the photographs out of the box.

"And what about this, huh?" Jo reached into the box and roughly grabbed at one of the shards.

"No, don't!" Pam caught her by the wrist before she could reach it. "She's—it's broken."

Jo pulled her hand away, moving cautiously back into her seat as Pam closed her eyes briefly, resuming the drumming of her fingers on the table.

"Hey, Red?" Harley ventured, gently. "Let's move forward, OK?"

Pam pushed out a forceful breath before opening her eyes once more. "OK," she affirmed, sliding a photograph out of the pile and across the table for Jo and Anthony to examine.

Both took a moment to study it before responding, but a moment was all it took for Anthony's distress to override his artificial coloring. He was a pale green when he tore his eyes away from the picture. "You have another family?"

"And you let your other daughter dress up in old-timey dresses for family pictures?!" Jolene was equally distraught.

"What?" Pam was confused at first, but then she took another look at the picture. "Oh!" She laughed, uncomfortably, "No, that woman was _my_ Mother. That's me." She pointed to the girl in the photo.

"Well how come you wouldn't let us do a theme for our pictures?" Jo demanded.

Harleen sighed. "In hindsight…maybe we should have explained some of this before-hand."

"Right…" Pam tried again. "Do you—how old do you think I am?"

Anthony shrugged. "Younger than Mama, I guess."

Harleen made a face, though Pam wasn't completely sure she meant to. "Actually, she's about 40 years younger," Pam informed them. "See, I was born in 1933. You were born in…what? '71?" she checked with Harley.

"That…makes absolutely zero sense," Anthony forced out a laugh.

"I was 7 here," Pam tapped her finger on the picture in front of them. "Your age, Jo. That was 1940. In 1966…" Pam shuffled through the pile until she found what she was looking for. "I had just earned my PhD…" She slid them the photo Harleen had seen many years ago in the Jason Woodrue section of Poison Ivy's patient file. This was the original copy. "And was employed by this man, here. He was…" she contemplated how best to phrase a description. "Unethical."

"No," Harleen shook her head. "He was evil, Pamela."

The redhead nodded an agreement to the revision. "Evil."

"But…" Jo's brow was furrowed, her face screwed into one big question mark. "Mom, you look don't look any older now. Just prettier."

"So you were…33 here?" Anthony did the math.

"That's right," Pam nodded.

"OK, well, that's what you look like. 30." Anthony slid the photo away. "I don't get how you can look 7 when you're 7, 30 when you're 30, but 30 when you're also…" he did some more quick math. "Mom…are you almost 100 years old?"

"Yes. 88, to be exact." Pam told him. "But you wouldn't know it because of that man in the picture. He…trapped me here. In this body, with this face. He made me Poison Ivy, and Poison Ivy…she doesn't age."

"But so you weren't green when you were really 30?" Jo asked. "He made you green?"

"Yes, and umm…provided me other—desirable physical attributes that I wasn't—that I didn't have before."'

Jo studied the photograph for a moment. "You mean like your boobies?"

"Jolene!" Harley wasn't quite sure why she was so offended on Pamela's behalf, but her face was suddenly red.

Pam placed her hand on the blonde's arm. "No, that's…what I meant."

"Oh my God…" Harley stared straight ahead. "My entire life has been a lie." She then immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. "Holy shit, did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah," Anthony confirmed. "And you swore."

Pam and Jo both ignored the flustered woman, the girl still staring down at the photo. With a delicate finger, she traced the features of her real 30-year-old mother. "How come?" she asked.

"Well…" Pam cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her chair. "He changed me to satisfy two of his needs—both his curious yet sadistic scientific mind, and his…masculine demands."

Jo pursed her lips as the other two table occupants stayed silent. "Did he…did he hurt you in your privates?" She asked.

"Mhm," Pam acknowledged with a nod. "Yes, he did."

The girl finally raised her eyes then, and they were full of tears when she did…but not exactly ones of sadness or mourning, they were angry, her jaw was set. And through gritted teeth she asked, "Is that man dead now?"

"Yes…" Pam nodded, slowly. A bit perplexed by her daughter's reaction. "Has been for about 30 years now."

"Did you kill him?" Was Anthony's question, although his tone was much softer than the one Jolene had taken.

"I did not. Although I would have liked to." Pam admitted. "Batman killed him."

"Do you think it hurt him?" Jolene wondered.

"Yes, I do." Pam assured her. "I like to think his death was very painful."

"Good," Jo said, and there was a certain finality to her words. "Would you ever hurt a girl like that, Anthony?"

The boy looked horrified, his eyes widening at his sister's question. "No way! No, that's the meanest thing a person can do. No way."

"Good," Jo repeated. "Mom," she was looked at Pam sincerely, pointedly, and told her, "I would kill him if he wasn't already dead."

"Jo…" Harleen was a bit jarred by her daughter's reaction, especially as they hadn't had a terribly in depth "rape talk" before. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I hate him," Jolene snapped. "I know this man already. He comes in my head when I close my eyes at night. I see him when I have my scariest dreams."

"This man, specifically?" Pam asked. "You recognize this man?"

Jo nodded ardently. "I can't move and he asks me answers to questions I don't really know, but I always have the right answer. But I don't get scared anymore," she stated, proudly.

"Why not?" Pam breathed.

The girl smiled reassuringly. "Because my name's not 'Pammy'. That's your name, I think. So I'm not scared because he doesn't really wanna talk to me. He wants to talk to you."

Pamela sat, frozen, her mouth hanging dumbly open.

"Mom, is…is that what you remember?" Anthony asked. "Is that what he did to you?"

"That must be how they communicate with you, Jolene." Pam murmured. "You can't hear them…they show you."

"Who?" Jolene questioned, her head cocked innocently.

Tears were beginning to gather in Pam's eyes as well now. "Oh, Sweatpea. I'm so sorry." She got up and walked swiftly around the table, kneeling in front of her daughter's chair and pulling her into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry."

Puzzld, or at least taken by surprise, it took a moment for Jolene to hug back, but when she did it was with one arm around Pam's neck and one hand softly patting her head. "It's OK, Mom…I'm a brave girl just like you."

Anthony was staring blankly into space. "How long will you be trapped?"

"Indefinitely," Harleen answered when Pamela failed to. "Mom's is a 'unique' case because she has all the time in the world, really."

Jolene separated from the redhead to stare down at her. "So you won't ever be an old lady?"

Pam shook her head, but remained silent.

"But Mama will?" Anthony attempted to clarify. "And Jolene and I will? Even though I'm—this?" He held up his green-tinted hands. "Just like you?"

"This isn't what you want, Anthony," Pam exhorted. "And there are a lot of ways in which you and I are different."

The boy's blue eyes turned glassy. "You made us…" his complexion had darkened to a shade of green nearing Ivy's natural hue. "And you made us have to die." He stood up from his seat, slowly, but with his fists clenched. "You didn't want to be a Mom forever, so you made us just like all the other humans, but with all your worst parts." He spat.

"Anthony, I wasn't sure what the side effects would be to using my DNA," Pam reasoned. "I could only run so many tests, and I—"

"You got lazy." Anthony summarized. "So now I hear your voices and have your skin, while Jo has your memories as her nightmares. But we don't have any real powers. That's OK, though, right? Because we're mostly just stupid humans and you'll never get older, so you'll probably have other wives and other kids…"

Harley shot up from her chair. "Anthony Quinzel, knock it off!"

The boy blinked angry tears out of his eyes. "This isn't fair."

"You're right, Anthony. It's not." Pam agreed, "Not in the slightest. Not even a little bit. I know you're frustrated. I was frustrated too. I still am. I wake up every day frustrated. But this is the life I have and you are what I've decided to do with it. I love you and your sister more than I thought I'd ever be able to love anything, so I'm sorry for your suffering, but I am not sorry I made you, and I never will be. Not in a thousand years I won't be."

Anthony looked like he was trying to put together a response, but he ultimately just wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater, and stormed off towards his bedroom after shooting a final glare at his parents.


	21. Chapter 21

"No, Pam," Harleen stopped her with a hand to her chest. "Give him a second, OK? How about you and Jolene go watch a show," she suggested. "What's that show you've been wanting Mom to watch with you, Jo?"

"Oh! Mom, you're in it!" Jo perked up.

Pam didn't move her gaze from Harleen, who she was silently pleading with. "Oh really?"

"Yeah," Jo was grinning a bit too broadly, trying in her own way to diffuse the situation. "Cept' they only call you Ivy, and you're just in High School so sometimes you mess up with your powers."

Harley shook her head, and nodded towards the living room, communicating once more that's where her wife would be most helpful at this juncture.

After one more miserable look, Pamela turned around to face Jolene. "Is that so?"

"Yeah!" Jo repeated, a bit more excited this time as she stood up and grabbed her Mom's hand, dragging her out of the dining room.

Harleen stood there for a moment after they'd left, waiting until she heard the TV flick on to move. Once it did, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt and started up the stairs to the master bedroom. She leaned into Anthony's door as she passed it, but couldn't hear anything, so she continued on, opening the top drawer of her dresser and pulling her own version of Pam's shoebox out. Though hers wasn't a shoebox, it was her photo albums. Clutching them to her chest, she shut her bedroom door behind her and knocked on Anthony's.

He didn't answer after the first round, so she tried again.

"Go away."

"Ant, it's me. You know, your stupid human Mother."

Harleen took his second non-answer as an invitation and let herself in. Anthony was laying on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. His skin was still green, which wasn't exactly unusual at this point in the evening. He slept in that shade, as it was the most comfortable, but Harleen suspected that he was currently too upset to focus on his pigment. So even if he wanted to look more human in this moment, he couldn't.

"Hey," Harley said, "You're pretty pissed, huh?"

He growled something incoherent and turned to face away from her.

Harleen pursed her lips, determining how best to move forward. "Anthony, can I show you something?"

She again took his non-answer as an invitation and sat down gingerly on his bed behind him. Silently flipping open the cover of her more well-worn album, she extracted a picture from it, reaching her arm over to hold it in front of his face. "That's me," she told him. "And that's my Ma, and…that's my Pop, and that little guy is my brother."

It took a moment for Anthony to react, but slowly he reached his hand up and took the picture from her, gazing at it but still refusing to face her.

"Pop's in jail now," Harleen told him. "Has been for a while. 70 years old and still an asshole," she chuckled.

It was clear Anthony was doing math as he tapped his fingers on the bedsheet, and when he turned to her, it was with a look of disgust. "You know that makes your wife 18 years older than your dad, right?"

"Yeah," Harley sighed, laying her head down next to his on the pillow. "Pretty gross, right?"

"The grossest thing I ever heard."

Harley chuckled. "God, you know what's almost equally gross?"

"Nothing?" Anthony guessed.

"Ooh, a comedian," Harley laughed. "No, do you know how I met your Mom?"

"No." He said, plainly, handing the picture back to her.

"Well…I was a doctor at an insane asylum. A psychiatrist."

"So you treated mental illnesses."

"That's right," Harleen nodded. "At Arkham Asylum."

"What?" Anthony turned to face her more fully, his eyes wide. "You worked at Arkham? That's where all of Batman's rogues get put."

"Mhm," Harley confirmed. "I worked at Arkham…and Mom lived there."

"What?"

"Yep," the blonde nodded. "Poison Ivy used to be one of Batman's most powerful rogues. Maybe even the most powerful…but don't tell her that, it'll go straight to her head."

"So you were…"

"I was her doctor," Harleen finished his sentence so that he wouldn't have to.

"Mama!" Anthony was sitting up fully now. "That is so messed up!"

"Pfft, don't I know it," Harleen agreed. "I felt so stupid, being in love with my patient. And I think she felt pretty stupid too, for falling for a human." She adjusted herself so that Anthony could lay his head back down, but when he did it was to stare at the ceiling. "I thought I had lived a pretty normal life…up until I got to college and started studying psychology. That's when I realized nothing about my life had been normal. My dad was in and out of prison my whole childhood, I spent all day every day in a gymnasium, I had no friends, I knew my brother would turn out an unambitious loser while my Ma sorta thought I would…but none of that really mattered to me because I had a dream, and I was doing everything in my power to achieve it."

"What was it?" Anthony asked, his interest piqued.

"Oh, well I was going to win a gold medal, of course," Harley laughed. "As a gymnast."

"Why didn't you?" Anthony murmured. "Were you not good enough?"

"I was plenty good enough," She reached down to hold his hand, and, begrudgingly, he allowed it. "But I let someone convince me that I wasn't." She turned her gaze to the ceiling as well. "It was a long time before somebody told me I was good enough."

"Was it Mom?" He asked, a bit cynically.

Harley smiled. "Oh my gosh, you must be—like—a genius or something." He flicked her in the arm, but even without looking at him she could tell he was smirking. It's what Pam would be doing, after all. "When the most beautiful, most intelligent person you've ever met tells you that _you're_ pretty and that _you're_ smart, I think it's a good idea to listen. I was 26 years old…fresh out of medical school, like this adorable little blonde baby…"

"I don't think you can call yourself adorable." Anthony chided.

"No?" Harley challenged, propping herself up on her elbow so that she could flip through the open photo album. "How do ya like them apples?!"

Anthony rolled onto his side to look at the picture she was gesturing to so forcefully, and a full smile finally cracked his humorless expression. "You wore glasses?"

"Only to impress people," the blonde confessed.

"I like your chipmunk cheeks," He admitted, having reined in his smile. "Now you've got…" he brushed the backs of his knuckles gently over Harley's face. "Cheekbones."

"Well that's because I'm a very old woman now," She laughed. "And old women who workout a lot usually have those."

"You don't seem old to me, Mama," Anthony assured her. "You don't even look old."

Harleen held his hand against her face. "Neither does Mom, right?"

The boy didn't answer, just dropped his gaze. "Why did you have us?" he mumbled, like he was ashamed to be asking the question, or ashamed that he felt the need to ask it.

"Well…" Harleen smiled, wistfully. "I was very, very happy. We'd been married for like 10 years at that point, and…we'd just had this really strange experience where we got a window into what our relationship could have been, and I just felt really happy with my life choices, really happy I'd chosen Mom…and suddenly, I was ready. I wanted a baby, I wanted to be a mom. I wanted Pam to get to be a mom…"

"Did she want to?" Anthony wondered.

"Not at first, no." Harley admitted. "She was afraid that someday we would have a night like tonight where we'd have to tell you what she really was. She told me I was being selfish, for asking her to not only watch me die, but our kids as well. She said it was unfair of me to introduce another thing to love just for it to be taken away like everything else."

Anthony flipped back over to face the wall. "What did you say?"

"Please," Harley giggled. "And I knew she would say yes because I asked her to, and she loved me too much to feel like she'd disappointed me somehow."

"…but why did she have to make us like this?"

"Unfortunately," Harley began with a sigh. "Her name is 'Poison Ivy' for a reason. A completely human baby wouldn't have been able to survive around her, and they'd be too weak for the vaccine she gave me. So the only way we could have a baby that was ours—or even just mine—was this. And Anthony," She scooted up closer behind him. "You are perfect. From the day you were born, you were absolutely flawless. The most beautiful baby I'd ever seen. And holy crap was Mom in love with you. Two peas in a pod, you two, from day one."

"Mama," Anthony groaned. "Your puns are lame."

Harley laughed. "That's actually just an idiom, but I'll remember that…for future use," she said, menacingly.

And again, she could tell he was smiling.

"Ant, you're right to be angry, and you're right to think this is unfair. It is." Harley told him. "But there is nothing wrong with you. And for all the crap Mom talks about humans, she's still a hybrid. She's still Pamela Isley, she's still married to me and she still has you and Jo. We're a family, and growing up as a family is always hard, especially when you have to leave one person behind. But we're all going to do our best, OK? I can promise you that every day, Mom and I will try our best."

Anthony sniffed, his knees once again tucked into his chest, and his face still turned away. Harley watched as he raised his sleeve to wipe his tears away. "I don't want to leave Mom behind."

Harley wrapped an arm around his chest, craning her neck to kiss him on the cheek. "Me neither."

/

Pam's eyes were narrowed critically at the screen. "So we're all enrolled in an academy specifically for female superheroes?"

Jolene was snuggled into her chest, her medal still hanging around her neck, "yup, pretty much."

"Why am I dressed like that?" Pam asked. "And why is my voice so high? My voice was never that high."

"Well maybe they didn't know that," Jo giggled, twisting her fingers in the buttons of her Mom's shirt.

"Ridiculous portrayal," Pam grumbled. "And why are Diana and Barbara so close? That doesn't make any sense…I don't think they've ever spoken one-on-one."

"Funny that she's Barbara Gordon just like Aunty Babs, huh?"

"Yes, very funny." Pam acknowledged, although she wasn't exactly listening—far more focused on her character's appearance. "I've literally never worn my hair like that. And what are those shoes?"

Jo laughed, pausing it before sitting up to look at her. "Mom, you're ruining the show! I was tryin'a put us in a happy mood."

Pam bit her lip apologetically and smoothed down the flyaways protesting Jo's pig tails. "I'll try to stop."

"Thank you," Jo said with an exaggerated sigh, snuggling back down against her Mom's chest. "She's my favorite," she pointed at the screen as some blonde in an argyle sweater pranced in.

"Who the hell is…?"

 _"_ _I'm Harley Quinn!"_

"Oh, Jesus," Pam buried her face in her hands.

"She's a goofball," Jo giggled. "I like how she breaks stuff and does gymnastics."

"They all do gymnastics," Pam pointed out.

"Yeah, but…she's funny," Jo smiled.

"You know…" Pam adjusted their positions slightly, wrapping her arms around her daughter's shoulders. "I've met Harley Quinn before. The real one...well, a version of the real one."

"Shut up!" Jo twisted to look up at her again.

"No, it's true," Pam chuckled. "She was a bit more grown up than that version, but yeah. I've met her."

"What was she like?" Jo wondered. "Did she call you 'Red' like in the how?"

"Mmm…no, I don't think so." Pam pressed a kiss to the girl's forehead. "She had her own Ivy to call 'Red', just like I have my own Harley."

Jo furrowed her brow, "What do you mean?"

"That's…a complicated conversation," Pam said. "But I will say that your Mother is an excellent gymnast, thinks she's very funny, and breaks stuff literally all the time."

Jo narrowed her green eyes, inadvertently recreating the expression Pam had made while watching herself on screen. "Mama's not a superhero, though…"

"Well, she's not _that_ superhero," Pam acknowledged.

"Are you just saying confusing things to confuse me tonight?"

Pam smiled, "Silly girl, why else would I say confusing things?"

Jolene's eyes were nearly closed she was observing her Mother so critically now, but slowly, her face cracked into her more typical grin. "I'm glad you'll be young forever," she finally decided.

"Oh?" Pam gently slid the hair-ties out of the girl's strawberry-blonde curls, running her fingers through them so her hair fell just past her shoulder. Preparing Jolene for bed was easier when she was distracted. "Why's that?"

"Because, maybe, when I'm older than you—I'll get to say weird stuff that confuses _you_ instead'a me."

Pam laughed. "May-be."


	22. Chapter 22

Pamela awoke with a start…although she wasn't completely sure why. It felt like she'd had a troubling dream or had forgotten something, maybe. But her mind was blank as her eyes blinked open to survey the darkened bedroom. No memories of a dream, she wasn't due at the watchtower until the afternoon and the sun hadn't even risen yet.

But Harleen was home. She could hear her breathing next to her. Pamela knew she hadn't been asleep long, as she hadn't started mumbling yet. Harleen was usually a talkative sleeper, nearly as active in rest as she was in operation.

Pam rolled over to face her, careful not to jostle the bed too much as she did so. The blonde lay in her sports bra with just the sheet pulled up across her abdomen. Pam sighed when she saw Harley had neglected to take her hair out of her messy ponytail, and…yep. Her suspicions were confirmed when she gently pulled the sheet down off the other woman's body to find she was wearing her spandex shorts. Meaning she'd just stripped off her Batwoman costume and collapsed into bed. And…that's exactly what it smelled like had happened too. It wasn't Harley's odor that Pamela disliked, really, it was the smell of Gotham City she preferred Harley to shower off before she got into bed. Like grease and rust and the fires the homeless lit on the streets. The city was better now than it ever had been. Cleaner…it's parks manicured, it's trees and window baskets vibrant…but it was still dirty. Always would be. Pamela knew she'd never escape it, well…not in Harleen's lifetime, anyway.

And the places Batwoman was sent were nothing like the wide-open spaces Poison Ivy was now in charge of. No, these were holes in the ground. Wet, dank hovels were humans were trafficked and drugs were funneled.

Pam brushed the matted bangs out of Harley's eyes, trailing her finger deliberately down the woman's cheek, watching her hand as it went. She scooted lower on the bed as her hand continued past her collar bone, over the swell of her breasts, down over the subtle bumps of her ribcage. There, she gingerly laid her head, letting her fingers continue down to circle Harley's navel and brush back up along the lines of her abdominal muscles.

"Mmm…"

Pam felt Harley's lungs expand beneath her head

"What are you doing?" She mumbled, sleepily.

Pam answered by pressing a lazy kiss to her diaphragm. "Looking at you…"

"God, why?" Harley's voice was horse with sleep as she stretched.

"Because…" Pamela traced the blonde's hip bones with her index finger. "I don't want to forget a single line…or divot…protrusion."

Harleen giggled when Pam's finger dipped below the waistband of her spandex, not moving any further, just ghosting along her skin.

Pam smiled when Harley reached out and threaded her fingers in her red hair. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright," the blonde said with a sigh, "I thought we could make breakfast together. Remind the kids we're normal."

"Normal…" Pam repeated, letting that be the only sound in the room for a moment before she turned her head to face Harley. "Is that what we are?"

Harleen smirked. "It's a relative term."

"Mmm…" Pam smiled, her attention drifting back down to Harley's torso

"You know…" Harley twirled a lock of red hair around her finger. "I was sorta liking the direction that hand was taking before…"

"Oh, I'm sure you were," Pam acknowledged, her lips pressed against her skin. "But I've still got all your scars to catalogue."

"Bleh," Harleen sat up onto her elbows. "Why would you want to remember those?"

Pam laughed, "Harleen, if you despise them so thoroughly, why won't you let me get rid of them?"

The blonde frowned. "Because I like them. They're part of me."

Pamela rolled her eyes with all the affection she could muster. "You've just answered your own question." She pressed herself up onto her knees, and crawled on all fours over her wife as her long hair curtained them. "I want to remember you for what you actually were. Is that too much to ask?"

Harley laced her hands under Pam's arms, holding onto her shoulders and gently pulling her down until they lay chest to chest, nose to nose. "Boooo," she said before planting a chaste kiss on the lips above her. "Reality sucks. It's why I hate Indie films."

"Fine," Pam smirked, kissing her back. "Then how should I remember you?"

"Smokin' hot," was Harley's immediate answer. "With big tits and a nice ass."

Pam laughed, kissing her longer this time. "If I wanted all that, I'd just look in the mirror."

Harley scoffed. "What a charming narcissist you are. No, just…keep me at 26, alright?

"Don't worry. She's in here," the redhead smiled, tapping her temple. "As is 30-year-old you, and 40-year-old you, and 45-year-old you…"

"And 49-year-old me?" Harley guessed. "Now we're doing 49-year-old me?"

Pam nodded silently above her, nuzzling their noses together as she did, the smile slowly fading from her lips.

Harley looked at her for a moment, just took her in for a quiet second before bringing both hands up to cup her face. "Let's go make breakfast."

"Harl," Pam chuckled. "The sun's not even up yet. We'll wake the kids."

The blonde grinned. "Good. We let those fuckers sleep way too much anyway. We could eat, and then maybe go on a hike or something before you've gotta report to the tower."

Pam narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You hate nature…"

Harley looked offended, "Pamela, that's absolutely ridiculous. I immerse myself in nature every day!...and night." She added an exaggerated wink to the last part.

"Mm, well. You certainly won't be 'immersing yourself in nature' this morning," Pam rolled off of her. "I'm afraid those privileges have been revoked."

"Aww, there's my party pooper," Harley grinned, reaching over to the bedside table for her phone before sinking back into the pillows. "Missed ya, Babe."

Pam grunted in response, accidently grabbing one of Harleen's blouses from the closet and attempting to button it over her chest. She stared down at herself for a moment, confused, before breathing a sigh of relief at her mistake and exchanging it for one of her own. When she glanced back at the bed, Harley was still snuggled into the comforters.

"I thought we were making breakfast."

"We are." Harley confirmed. "But breakfast making requires a breakfast making playlist. I am making that playlist."

"Whatever you say." Pam pulled on a pair of black leggings and started out of the bedroom, walking down the stairs and into the kitchen towards the fridge, hoping they had the ingredients for pancakes.

She was setting things on the counter when she heard Harley approaching the stairs, and not slowly, either. Pam turned just in time to see her wife vault over the banister on the second landing. She tucked into a roll as she landed, turning once head-over-heels before popping back up to her feet, her arms spread out wide. "Ta-da!"

"You're a fucking idiot."

Harley laughed, walking over to the speaker she kept in the cabinet under the record player and plugging her phone in. "Toss me that." She instructed Pam.

"Toss you what?"

"That." Harley pointed to the wooden mixing spoon Pam was planning on making the pancake batter with.

"You're going to lip sync, aren't you?" Pam realized, disappointed. "Please don't lip sync."

"How about you just hand me the microphone and we'll see where that takes us."

"It's a spoon," Pam grumbled. Despite her obvious protest, though, Pam handed the spoon to a vine she'd summoned from the plant near the couch, which in turn handed it to Harley.

Pam crossed her arms as the music began, looking deeply unimpressed when her wife immediately began lip syncing.

" _How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable / so condescending unnecessarily critical_ —"

"Hey, how about you take it down a notch?"

"— _I have the tendency of getting very physical / so watch your step cuz if I do you'll need a miracle_ —"

"I have beat you in literally countless physical altercations."

"— _you bleed me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here_ —"

"Yeah, I think that's enough." Pam directed her vine to snatch the spoon away. "Could you get started on the eggs, please?"

Harley wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out to articulate her protest to the request, but went to the fridge none-the-less and grabbed the carton of eggs. "You know what your problem is, Red?"

"I'm condescending and unnecessarily critical?"

"Pretty much," Harley placed a frying pan on the stove. "I think maybe Adam Levine should be our marriage counselor."

Pam measured out her flower, dumping it carefully into the bowl. "I very much doubt Mr. Levine has his master's degree."

"Such little faith," Harley tsked. "I'm sure most people forget you have a PhD."

"Yes, but I actually have my PhD." Pam argued. "Mr. Levine's degree is completely fabricated and—why are we still talking about this?"

Harley shrugged, smiling as she cracked— "What do you think? 6?"

"I'm not eating."

6 eggs into her bowl and scrambled them with a fork. "You still planning to go off planet next week?"

"Just a day trip," Pam assured her, adding the buttermilk to the nearly finished batter. "J'onn found a cluster of embryophyte he's having trouble identifying."

"Ah, yes, well…in that case," Harley pretended to understand, although from Pam's smirk, it was clear she wasn't exactly selling it.

They continued their cooking in a comfortable silence until the song changed.

Pam sighed, "Really, Harley?"

"What?" Harley laughed. "Not a Bon Jovi fan? _It's my life_ ," she sang along. " _It's now or never /I ain't gonna live forever_!"

"These song choices feel very pointed," Pam mumbled, pouring a measured scoop of batter onto the hot skillet.

Harley rolled her eyes and changed the song. "Not everything has a deeper meaning, Red."

Pam scoffed. "Says the psychiatrist." She was just about to flip the pancakes when the next song arrived at the chorus.

 _I don't know who's gonna kiss you when I'm gone,_

 _So I'm gonna love you now like it's all I have._

Pam set the spatula down on the counter, turning to the other woman. "Why are you doing this?"

" _I know it'll kill me when it's over_ ," Harley mumbled along with the music. " _I don't want to think about it, I want you to love me now_."

Pam sighed, coming up behind the blonde and wrapping her arms around her middle. "So you're just being a bitch, then?"

Harley shrugged as she stirred the eggs.

Usually, Harleen wasn't all that into non-verbal communication, so to Pam that response meant the was done with the conversation and uncomfortable with an emotion she was having trouble expressing. So Pam kissed her neck and smiled against her ear. "I think a hike sounds fantastic."

Harley cleared her throat. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," Pam affirmed, nodding against her. "And, can I be honest?"

"Yeah, yeah, I need to take a shower. I know." Harley grumbled.

Pam chuckled warmly, "Well sure…but that's not what I was going to say."

Harley turned around in her arms. "If you say some over-the-top romantic shit right now I'm going to punch you."

"OK, Selina," Pam mocked, otherwise ignoring her warning and lifting her up onto the counter. "49-year-old you is my favorite one."

Harley seemed to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Why?"

Pam grinned, enjoying this as their more typical dynamic was the inverse. "Because she's the one I have in front of me. The one I get to touch…" she trailed her hands lightly down Harley's arms, leaning forward as she did so. "And the one I get to kiss." She made good on that promise, softly pressing their lips together.

Harleen was smiling almost shyly when they broke apart. "88 years old and still puttin' the moves on me. I'm impressed."

"If I remember correctly," Pam's hands bracketed Harley's hips on the counter. "That was a promise I made you on our wedding night. That I would forever be smooth as 'puddin'."

Harley furrowed her brow, "Did I make you any promises? Other than to have and hold and all that trash."

Pam laughed, "Not that I recall, although it's wonderful to know you refer to our marriage vows as trash. Not as if we've built an entire life and family on those promises or anything."

"What?!" Harley pretended to be alarmed. "Is that what marriage is? I assumed it was just a contract that assured me sex I didn't have to work for."

Pam pushed away from the counter. "You're batting 1000 this morning. Just…firing on all cylinders, really." She flipped the pancakes.

"Hey!" Jolene was suddenly standing in the kitchen, and both women jumped as her high, childish voice cut through the air. "How come Mama gets to sit on the counter but I don't?"

"Because Mama is a delinquent and a terrible influence," Pam stated, plainly, turning the burner under the eggs off and moving the pancakes off the stove and onto a serving plate.

"Uh oh," Jo giggled. "Do you get to ground Mama because you can be her wife and her grandma?"

"Jolene…" Pam turned around with a sigh, "There are 38 years between your Mother and I, just as there are 38 years between Anthony and your Mother…" her words puttered out towards the end of her sentence as realization dawned on all three of their faces.

"Oh…God…" was all Harley could muster as her face scrunched up into something nearing disgust. "Babe, let's not ever phrase it like that again, OK?"

Pam nodded silently, turning back to the stove and Jo sat down at the kitchen island in some sort of daze. The kitchen was quiet aside from the sizzle of pancake batter on the pan until Jo spoke up. "Why are we awake so early?"

"Hike," Harley slid off the counter. "We're gonna go on a hike before Mom has to go to work."

"I thought she didn't work anymore."

"No, her other job."

Wordlessly and ignoring Harley and Jo's conversation, Pam dropped her spatula again and cupped Harley's jaw in her hands, kissing her in a way that was meaningful but also appropriate for public consumption. She nodded when she pulled away, as if the kiss had confirmed or reassured her of something…and then she moved back in front of the stove, mumbling "good" as she went.

Jo raised a curious eyebrow, but ultimately couldn't keep the smile off her face as she saw Harley making the same expression. "Moms are weird."

/

"Harleen, she's going to trip!" Pam called down the trail as Harley chased Jo around the bend. "Why must everything be an athletic competition with them?" Pam asked…although she was speaking to herself, really, even with Anthony following close behind.

Anthony understood that, and so when he spoke it was with a private grievance of his own. "I hate hiking."

Pamela did not extend him the same courtesy, stopping in her tracks and addressing him with a look of utter puzzlement. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't like hiking," he repeated after brief deliberation on whether or not he should brave it. He knocked her with his shoulder as he passed her by, continuing down the trail.

She stood there for a moment, too stunned to move. "Anthony, I—" she shook it off, starting at nearly a jog behind him. "I don't understand. This is our true domain. Where home isn't just a feeling, but a biological inclination."

"No, it's _your_ biological inclination." He stabbed his stick into a rotting log. "For me it's just an auditorium with a concert that I didn't buy tickets for." He left the stick there, standing upright in the log. "I don't know these guys and they're not on their best behavior."

Pam furrowed her brow at his back, trying to understand the true basis of his complaint like Harley would. _Oh!_ "You feel pulled between two identities, but stuck in the middle somehow."

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, "I guess," and kicked a rock.

Pamela peered up ahead in search of her wife, knowing Harley would probably know exactly how to handle this conversation. But she was long gone. Preoccupied. So Pam picked up her pace a bit until she was walking in stride with her son. "I killed people."

Anthony stopped. "What?"

"When I felt what you are feeling," Pam clarified. "I killed people. Bad people. People who I thought deserved to die. But yes, that was my coping mechanism for emotional powerlessness."

Anthony shook his head and began walking again. "Some role model you are."

"Oh, I'm not." Pam assured him. "Never claimed to be. It's the media that pushes that image of me. I'm not suggesting that you follow in my footsteps in that regard, I'm just saying what you're feeling is completely valid and difficult to deal with. Believe me, I know."

"Mm," he grunted. Although, by the slightly unfocused look in his eye, Pam could tell he was letting that sink in. "Do you wish you still killed people?"

Pam cleared her throat, buying herself a moment of consideration. "I hold no moral or ethical objection to killing humans, but if we were to look at life as a weighted scale, a series of sums and balances, I can state with absolute confidence that my love of you all far outweighs my hatred for the rest."

"Why?" Anthony asked. "Why do you even love us? You're a plant. You don't have to."

Pam took another moment to formulate a response, listening to the clapping of their footsteps against the packed dirt. When she did speak, her voice was quiet. "We fertilized four embryos during our first attempt to have a child. You were the 4th—our only hope for a boy." She fought the desire to put an arm around his shoulders. "I once told your mother you were like a weed who couldn't be stopped, couldn't be dug out. You wanted to be here and so you are. Thus is the case with my humanity. I've tried countless times to remove it from my psyche, from my physiology. To let it wilt and die within me giving way to something far less complex. But it won't. No matter what I do, I will always be human to a certain degree. I wanted to have a family that loved me, but it needed to be on my terms. So I have you. Therein lies the unflappable nature of humanity, an overriding principal that contradicts our better judgment more often than not."

Anthony didn't respond right away. He kept his gaze aimed at the path only a few feet in front of his shoes. "Why do you talk like that?"

"How do you mean?"

He kicked at a clump of dirt. "Like you're always giving a keynote address."

Pam laughed. "And what a poor address that would be…" she glanced over at him and found his lips remained in a hard line. He truly wanted an answer. "Do the flowers speak to you with words?" Pam asked.

"No, not exactly." He told her.

Pam nodded, "It's more an intricate feeling, yes? Almost as if you've been tasked with translating the petals of a flower as it's just bloomed."

"Yeah."

"Well when I communicate using the English language, I attempt to convey that same phenomena." She explained. "It will never truly translate, but I try my best.

"Alright," Anthony shrugged. "Comes off a bit pretentious, is all."

"Anthony," Pam laughed, "You're wearing a wool, turtleneck sweater on a hike."

And here, a smile finally did crack his lips. "Touché."

They watched as Jolene's head popped up from behind a boulder aways up the path. She squealed when Harleen came into view, and they could see the wide grin on the woman's face as she chased her daughter in a circle around the front of the rock.

Anthony picked up a pebble from the trail and threw it off the side into the gorge. "Why do you love Ma?"

Pam looked at him curiously. _Love_. "Well why do _you_ love her?"

"Doesn't matter." He said. "I didn't choose her. I'm asking why you did."

"Mmm…" Pam turned those words over in her mind. "I think Harleen Quinzel is quite possibly the most human person I've ever met. I don't want to sound too romantic, but perhaps there truly is a yin to every yang and your Mother is mine. Perhaps it's that simple."

The boy looked up at her like he was deciding whether or not to accept that answer. "Perhaps." He granted.

"Anthony, darling." Pam came to a complete stop and took his hands in her own, facing him straight on. "Did you ever, for one moment, doubt that I loved you, or that I loved Mama until last night?"

He couldn't hold the intense sincerity of her gaze, so he looked down at his feet and shook his head.

"Nothing has changed," she told him. "Not a thing. I was every bit as immortal on Thursday as I am today, the only difference is that you know now. I'm here to answer any question that might arise about our physiologies, but what's most important for you to understand is that you are my son and I am your Mother, and that comes before and after every obstacle we've faced so far and every obstacle we'll face from this point forward. Got it?"

Anthony scuffed his sneaker on the ground, his hands still buried deep in his pockets. "Yeah, I got it."

Pam smiled at that.

"Howellia aquatilis," Anthony murmured.

"Come again?"

"Howellia aquatilis," he repeated, pointing this time to a white flower just outside of the trail markers.

Pam turned to look, and a beaming smile soon spread downwards from her eyes. "Anthony, that's an incredible find! They're endangered, and—"

"Not native to this region." The boy finished for her. "Yeah, I know."

Pam turned her smile towards the flower. "Hello, precious. What in the world are you doing this far east?"

/

Batwoman took a kick to the stomach and another to the chest, the second of the two forcing her backwards on her heels. She couldn't regain her balance, so she fell, catching the edge of the building with one hand to save her from becoming street pizza.

She hung there as Batgirl picked up where she'd left off. "You're a nightmare, Talia! And I don't mean that in a cool 'I'm your worst nightmare' kind of way." Batwoman yelled up onto the roof. "And your kid's a dick!"

She heard a grunt that she didn't recognize as Batgirl's, meaning the younger woman had landed a solid blow. With some renewed strength, the blonde grabbed the ledge with her other hand too and pulled herself upwards, swinging back up onto the roof with a kick in the air for momentum.

"Honestly, Talia," she breathed, watching as Batgirl got the woman into a headlock. "All we're asking is for you to not be an asshole for like two seconds."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Talia choked.

"Let her go." Batwoman instructed.

Batgirl looked at her curiously.

"Let her go," the blonde repeated. "Bruce can deal with her."

Batgirl eventually obeyed, but her reluctance was clear. Talia gasped for air once she was free, her eyes quickly narrowing at the ginger. While Batgirl's attention was removed, she kicked her—hard—in the groin and flipped both women off as she jumped down off the backside of the roof.

Harleen spat in the direction she left and looked to her teammate. "You good?"

"Yeah," Batgirl's answer was curt. "Glad you didn't die."

"Same to you," Batwoman agreed in what had become their ritual. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Aren't we all?" Barbara let out a pained chuckle.

"Maybe to be 'Batgirl'," Harleen acknowledged. "But you've still got a few good years on ya, and I think you'd look pretty alright in red."

Barbara looked from the yellow emblem on her chest to the red one on the other woman's. "You serious?"

Harleen rested her hands on her hips. "50's gotta be a respectable retirement age, right?"

"Well, I…I guess…" Barbara had never really thought about her mentor retiring. She knew the products Pamela equipped her with gave her a false appearance of youth…Barbara supposed she'd just been lulled into that image of her.

"Just…" Batwoman sighed. "You ever get fed-up with having to chase Bruce's jilted lovers around all night?"

"Literally all the time." Barbara confirmed. "But that's a relatively small portion of the job."

"Yes," Harleen acknowledged. "You're right, but…do you think you would be? Ready, I mean. For this." She indicated her suit.

"Of course." Barbara crossed her arms over her chest, attempting not to feel emotional at what Harleen was actually asking her. "I prefer you in it, though."

Batwoman smiled. "Your charm will unlock many doors, my Padawan."


	23. Chapter 23

Ivy stared at her suit in its glass case. She had been for a few minutes now. Starring, that is.

 _Put your suit on, Pamela_. She told herself. _Now_.

And as if time had been unfrozen, her hand jutted out to the control panel on the case, releasing the garment from its chamber.

She supposed this was what sleep deprivation felt like. How awful.

Ivy stripped her blazer off and unzipped her dress, helping the juniper green fabric to slide to the floor. Pushing it past her lower abdomen, her fingers brushed over something odd. She pulled her hands back immediately in surprise and stared down at herself. Bumps. Raised ridges etched into her stomach, seemingly bridging her hip bones.

Cautiously, she returned her hand to her stomach, curiously tracing the faint spiral patterns with her index finger.

"Hey!"

Supergirl's voice startled her but she managed not to spin around in surprise, instead keeping her body facing away from the girl who was now standing relatively close behind her.

"Good morning, Kara." She hurriedly pushed her dress down the rest of the way and grabbed for her suit, pulling it on as quickly as possible.

"And a good morning to you, Pamela." Even without facing her, Ivy could tell the girl was miming tipping her cap. She wanted to call her an idiot, but her wife would have probably done the same thing. "You excited for the mission?"

Ivy sighed internally when she remembered she couldn't zip her suit by herself. "I'm always excited to discover a new species…Kara," she ventured, looking over her shoulder at her. "Would you be a doll and—"

"No problem!" The blonde grinned, taking a strong hold of her zipper and closing up the back of Ivy's suit. "Can I just say I really like the teal?"

Ivy turned around fully now, ready to move to the next room. "You are absolutely free to voice your opinion…even if it's incorrect."

Kara giggled. "If you say so, Red."

"Ivy. It's Poison Ivy." Pam corrected before giving the girl one more look over and walking through the hallway into the equipment room. "Off planet." She told Red Tornado, who was manning the front desk.

"What sector?" He asked.

"0098," she told him.

He nodded, entering something into his keypad, and soon after a sleek gray and black spacesuit was brought out on what was essentially an upscale dry-cleaning rack.

She acknowledged him cordially with a subtle bob of the head and pulled that suit on over her earth uniform, taking one more opportunity to run her fingers over the bizarre patterns she'd found protruding from the usually smooth surface of her skin before strapping herself into the equipment completely.

Ivy and Kara were the last to board the ship. Martian Manhunter was already in the captain's chair while Jessica Cruz and Booster Gold were buckled into two of the safety seats in the back.

"Mera!" Booster immediately exclaimed upon Ivy's arrival. "Can't believe Arthur let you out of the house."

Ivy chose to ignore him for the moment, taking a seat on the opposite wall and fastening the safety straps in an X pattern over her chest.

"Is everyone accounted for?" J'onn asked.

"Looks like it." Jessica reported.

They were up in the air soon after, riding in silence as J'onn maneuvered them through the more turbulent altitudes.

Ivy watched out the window as the Earth disappeared behind them. It all looked so wonderful from this perspective. So healthy. She wondered if possible tourists to her planet would be able to tell just how thoroughly human beings had ruined it if they only beheld it from this vantage point.

"You bring your mermaid tail?" Booster's voice yanked Ivy's mind back into the ship.

She stared at him silently for a moment, just blinking at him once or twice before deciding to respond. "What good would Mera do in space?" she asked. "I'm not her, and I'm certain that's not how her anatomy works. Although I suppose I should respect your commitment to that joke."

"You're right. My bad." The man actually looked ashamed of himself for a moment.

Ivy smiled subtly and allowed her focus to drift back out the window.

"Murph? MURPH?"

Her attention was forced back onto Booster.

"MMMMUUUUURRRRRPPPPPHHHHHH!" He repeated, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.

"What are you—why?!" Ivy demanded. "Because I'm a redhead in a space suit? She didn't even leave earth in that movie!" Booster Gold had an uncanny talent for pissing her off.

"What?" his face scrunched up in what seemed to be genuine confusion. "Of course she did. She ditched Matt Damon and then had to come back and save her damsel."

"Those are two different films, you imbecile." Ivy retorted. "And what about my demeanor or expression signals to you that I would like to participate in a conversation? No one like you, booster. I'm no exception."

Jessica was watching this exchange with mild fascination while Kara was starring resolutely ahead of her, determined to keep her eyes trained on an obscure spot on the wall rather than feel like she was in any way participating in an argument.

"Hey!" it was hard for Ivy to tell if he was actually offended. "Beetle likes me just fine, as a matter of fact."

"Yeah, and how does his dick taste?" Even Ivy was a bit surprised at the response she'd chosen. Usually she thought those things, but…well…she decided to stand by it.

Booster was grinning now, though. Looking like every frat-boy Pamela had ever hated. "Ooh, you're fun." He said with a chuckle. "Lucky for you I like my women feisty."

"Well I like my women…women." Ivy quipped. "And I've been married since before you discovered your dick."

Jessica laughed, both at Ivy's response and at the fact that Kara had turned beet red.

"J'onn!" Booster shouted, sounding purposefully childish. "Pamela is bullying me!"

"Perhaps you should leave women alone when they ask you to," J'onn calmly suggested.

Ivy watched Booster as he sunk back into his seat, that stupid grin still on his face, and silently fantasized about all the ways she could break him with her vines. Strangling…she could stab him if she used a sharp enough root…maybe rag-doll him around, slam him into the pavement a few times…and as these thoughts filled her psyche, her wrist began to hurt. It started dull at first, but sharpened as her thoughts intensified.

She looked down into her lap where the wrist in question lay overtop of her other hand. And as Ivy's thoughts moved from murder to the pain she was feeling, it slowly receded. She turned her hand over to examine her gloved palm and clenched it into a fist before straightening her fingers again. _No cramping.._. Ivy shook her head, closing her hand into a fist again and glancing around the hold at her colleagues, who all seemed to be caught up in their own thoughts. _Good_.

They landed roughly an hour later after not much further conversation. J'onn was first down the ramp, followed by Ivy and then Booster, Supergirl and Jessica.

"The meadow is about a mile up the way," J'onn informed them.

Jessica nodded in some unspoken understanding and activated her ring, encapsulating them in a green force field that carried them over the planet's smooth terrain.

"Remind me why we brought the plant lady?" Booster directed his question at J'onn.

"Besides being able to communicate with plant life, Dr. Isley here has a PhD in the subject," the Green Martian informed him.

"You know the diplomas hanging up on adult film sets aren't actually real, right, J'onn?" Booster laughed.

The pain in Ivy's wrist roared back with a vengeance as her anger flared, and she had to bite her lip to muffle her cry.

"What's your PhD in?" Booster asked, "Cleavage?"

"Botanical engineering," Ivy muttered through clenched teeth, steadying herself on Kara's shoulder.

The blonde looked at her strangely, but didn't request that she move her hand. "Are you alright?" She asked.

"Yes—fantastic," was Ivy's strangled response.

Kara seemed like she wanted to ask a follow up, but the bubble touched the ground and then disappeared back into Jessica's ring.

Ivy was immediately hit with a smell so overwhelming it delivered her a splitting headache. She was forced to drop to her knees, her hands squeezing the sides of her helmet.

"Ivy?"

It seemed like Kara's voice was echoing from all around her, like they were surrounded by cement and the closer to walls pressed, the faster her voice traveled.

And suddenly—she knew the smell. She was all too familiar with that particular pungent odor. "Jessica—back in the—get back in the—leave," Ivy was having a difficult time articulating her instructions, but Jessica still seemed to somehow understand and powered up her ring once more, closing the party—minus Ivy—back into her force field.

The redhead remained kneeling on the ground, her head clutched between her hands, her jaw tight, her teeth gritted. In a clumsy motion, she fumbled for the latch on her helmet and opened it, taking a deep breath as she did, trying to filter the alien air as quickly as possible, just as she would a foreign poison.

"What is it, Pamela?" J'onn asked, his voice sounding off within her head. "Is the air toxic?"

"Pheromones," Ivy gasped. "Don't—you can't breathe the air."

"Ok…uh…you good, though?" Booster asked. "Can I take care of your wife if you don't make it?"

Ivy mustered the concentration to flip him off, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth until she could once again form a coherent thought. "They're stronger than the ones I expel." She coughed. "More potent."

"Then why'd you take your helmet off, dumbass?" Was Booster's next question.

"I'm strengthening my immunity via exposure," Ivy growled. "And you're welcome."

"So what would they do to us?" Jessica asked.

Shakily, Ivy drew herself up to her feet. "Impair and disrupt cognitive ability."

"So?" Jessica followed up. "Booster's cognitive ability is already impaired."

"There is only one human being with the ability to resist Poison Ivy's toxins, and that person was delivered the vaccine by Poison Ivy herself," J'onn said. "So if Poison Ivy is standing before you, telling you this atmosphere is more toxic than she, I suggest you heed that warning."

Ivy turned away from them before Jessica could provide a reaction. The meadow stretched all the way to the horizon line, as far as Ivy could see. And the sun was not yellow like the one they enjoyed on Earth, this one beat down with a faint red light…like one of the heat lamps Ivy utilized in her greenhouse. The meadow itself was absolutely smooth, not a single bump or dip in its surface, although it was colored an eerie shade of shamrock green.

"J'onn, have you made inroads with the inhabitants yet?" She asked.

"As far as we can tell, this planet is currently uninhabited." He answered.

Her headache was beginning to dissipate, the fog clearing from her mind and her breathing pattern returning to somewhat normal, although she was consuming oxygen slightly faster than was typical. She squinted at the ground just below her feet. Taking a careful step forward, she found the terrain was springy. It gave beneath her feet, but didn't let her sink.

Ivy leaned over to pick up her helmet, surveying the scene in front of her for another moment before smiling slyly. "Oh, you're wrong, J'onn." She called back over her shoulder. "Seems this planet is rather densely populated, actually."

She looked to see all of her colleagues wearing perplexed expressions. "Jessica…" Ivy cooed, a look of disconcerting calm falling over her features. "I'm going to need back in there."

"Why?"

With a sigh, Ivy turned to face the meadow once more, and after taking one more deep breath, she tossed her helmet into the air. It only traveled about 5 feet before the ground came alive, and the fanged green head of what looked like one of Ivy's modified pitcher plants broke from the surface and snatched it out of the air. "We don't seem to be standing on the ground."

Things happened rather quickly after that. A strong hand was on Ivy's shoulder, yanking her backwards, and they were moving through the air, identical plants rising to snap at their bubble as it flew.

When the ship appeared ahead of them, it seemed to be capsizing, like a boat on the ocean, being pulled down onto what was truly the planet's surface.

"Holy fuck," Booster said, his jaw dropping as one of the larger plants opened its maw and attempted to chew through the right wing of the ship.

Ivy closed her eyes, tuning he and the others out. Mentally closing herself off from the chaos around them. " _We mean you no harm. We meant no disturbance. We won't return. We shall leave you to your utopia._ "

The plant retracted and Jessica landed the bubble on the ramp, Manhunter flying immediately to the cockpit to start the engines.

When another plant reached out for Booster's leg, Ivy shouted "ENOUGH!" and its head cowered away, diving below the canvas of green once more. J'onn closed the ramp and they were off before the others had time to buckle in.

Ivy laughed at Booster's stricken face. All the color had drained from it, and he sat down in the nearest seat because the shaking of his legs was too intense for him to venture any further.

"Oh, Mr. Gold," Ivy's contentedness showed in her confident smile. "Why _did_ you bring the plant lady?"

His eyes were still wide with fear, so she approached him slowly, her hips swaying as she went. With that cocky smirk still playing on her lips, she lowered herself onto his lap, straddling him so that she could lean into his ear. "It would be wise of you not to disrespect me again." His breath hitched as she leaned closer, placing her tongue just below his ear and dragging it along his jaw, leaving a trail of smoke and blistered skin in her wake.

Booster whimpered at the pain and she dragged her lips upwards so they barely ghosted against his bottom one. "If you can't even handle my tongue…" Her eyes flicked up to his, the green flickering like acid. "How did you expect to handle the rest of me?"


	24. Chapter 24

_Ugh_ , was Pam's first thought upon pulling into the driveway. _Tree trimmers_.

"Excuse me," she called out after rolling her window down. "Is there something I can help you with?"

There were two men standing outside her house, one assessing the tree that bridged the property line, the other retrieving something from their truck.

The second man closed the passenger door with a wide smile on his face. "No, Ma'am. Just doing some limbing."

"Why?" Was Pam's next question.

"We were hired by the owners of the house to clean this bad boy up," he informed her.

Unfortunately for him, she'd had it up to here with grinning men today. "Well that's odd…seeing as I'm the owner of the house.

"Which one? This one?" he asked, pointing to the neighbor's.

Without first answering, she turned off the car and got out, walking with purpose back over to him, her heels clicking on the pavement. "That tree bridges our property line. They don't have the authority to—"

Harleen, who had been playing in the front yard with Jo, bounded up beside her, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Welcome home, Honey."

Pamela knew that translated to 'pretend like you're human, please,' so she gritted her teeth. "Do you have a permit?"

"Yes they do," Harley interjected before the man could answer. "And they're not chopping it down, they're just trimming it—to make it healthier."

Pam scowled at the man. "And you have a license? You know what you're doing?"

"Geez, lady," he chuckled. "It's just a tree."

"Just a—just a tree?!" Pamela was horrified. "Sir, if you only knew!"

"Alrighty then…" Harley looped her arm around Pam's and turned her around, dragging her towards the house.

"It's absolutely, totally, completely unnecessary, Harleen!" Pam complained, nearly tripping as she was led onto the front porch. "What do they know? The stupid Joneses with their stupid dog and stupid sweaters, and stupid, ridiculous lawn care OCD."

Harley laughed, "I don't think I've ever heard you use the word 'stupid' so many times in a sentence," running her thumb over her wife's bottom lip, she leaning forward into a kiss. "How about we plant another one in our yard, huh?"

"Yeah, Mom," Jolene skipped up next to them with a grin. "And then we could go to the store and buy better sweaters and wear them around just to make the stupid Joneses mad."

"Oh, my vindictive little angel," Harley cooed, with only a hint of sarcasm, running a loving hand through the girl's hair.

Pam sighed, shaking her head and entering the house. Anthony was playing the piano—Bach, clearly, though Pamela couldn't identify the specific piece at the moment. Jolene was following so close behind her she stepped on her heel, and Harley was asking what the kids wanted for dinner. Separately? None of this would have been a problem, but together—Pamela felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic, like she was still wearing that space helmet.

"Hey, Mom, check it out," Anthony grinned, not looking up from the piano keys. "I think I finally got the bridge down."

"Whaddya bring us back from space, Mom?" Jolene asked as Anthony's playing grew louder.

"You're dragging," Pam observed, speaking to Anthony but looking at Jolene.

"Huh?" the girl's face pulled into a question mark.

"No, not—get the metronome," Pam sputtered. "You're—"

Anthony yelped in surprise, springing up from the bench as a vine shot out from the flowerpot by the door, sprouting finger-like extensions to occupy the keys Anthony had just abandoned, resuming the song where the boy had left off.

Pamela stared in bewilderment along with her family. She hadn't moved. Her hand had barely twitched, let alone directed the actions of that vine. She was used to being able to exercise that degree of control when dressed in her suit, but she was in civilian clothes now. Just a simple dress and blazer, no special fabric.

"I…" she cleared her throat and waved her hand to retract the vine back to its pot, stopping the music as she did. "I need to go to the greenhouse for a moment. And, umm," she smoothed down the non-existent wrinkles in her dress. "I think you should order pizza, Harleen. With broccoli. Pizza with broccoli."

"OK…" Harleen was looking at her oddly. "Are you alright?"

"What?" Pam had heard her, but the meaning of the words didn't exactly sink in. The sentence was scrambled in her mind, like Pam's brain couldn't interpret the language she'd used.

"Are you alright?" Harley repeated, slower this time.

"Oh, yes," Pam smiled, though it was slightly pained. "Perfectly—perfect." And with that, she continued through the foyer and the living room, down the hallway and out the back door towards the greenhouse.

"Umm…I think maybe space broke Mom?" Jo theorized, just loud enough for Pam to hear as she shut the back door behind her.

She moved quickly across the yard, but her fingers fumbled clumsily at the latch on the greenhouse and her breathing quickened, another wave of panic overtaking her. Finally, she did get it open, and closed herself inside, pressing her hand against her chest to feel her heartbeat as it raced.

Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, just as it had during the mission she'd participated in earlier that day, and her heartrate followed suit. Pam blinked, her skin adjusting to the sweltering heat of the greenhouse, and sunk down to the floor, sitting with her back up against the closed door.

It was at that moment that the tree trimmers decided to start up their chainsaw. Pam groaned, sticking her fingers in her ears in an attempt to shut out the sound of one of her children being maimed. But when she heard the metal saw make contact with the tree, she screamed in pain, feeling like someone was slicing her up the middle with a hot blade.

The pain didn't stop until the trimmers had presumably sawed the branch off, and even when that stopped, Pamela was left with a lingering ache that reverberated through her body. She moaned in anguish and rolled forward onto her knees, crawling over the grass to her work bench.

She didn't understand what was happening to her, but she was frustrated and confused…and the angrier she got the more her wrist began to throb. Pulling herself up and then leaning against the bench, she tore off her blazer and looked down at her wrist to see identical ridges to the ones she'd found on her stomach…but these ones were pulsing beneath her skin, like engorged veins being pumped with blood.

Pam yanked her top drawer open, grabbing for the scalpel and attempting to steady herself as she lined up the blade. Stuffing the blazer in her mouth to muffle any cries she might emit, Pam pressed the tip of the scalpel into her skin and drug it down one of the ridges, splitting it at the top. Her eyes grew wide, blazer dropping from her mouth and stomach turning as a thin, green vine slithered out of the slit she'd just created, writhing in the air, but remaining rooted beneath her skin.

Ivy stumbled back from the table, disoriented, almost like she was attempting to put space between she and her wrist. But being that it was attached to her body, it inevitably followed her, as did the tendril wriggling slowly in and out of her skin.

"Hey, Pam?" Came Harley's voice after a few knocks on the door. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine!" The redhead attempted to sound nonchalant, but her voice came out unnaturally high. She prayed Harley wouldn't detect the underlying panic.

"OK—sure, uhh…you want me to come get you when the pizza gets here so you can sit with us?" Harleen suggested. "Or, I don't know—maybe you worked up an actual appetite?"

"You know, it's entirely possible," was Pam's "casual" response. "I just need to catalogue a sample and I'll be right in."

"Great…" Harley was obviously unconvinced about something. "Love you."

"And I love you too, Harleen." Pam assured her, rather awkwardly, as she eyed the tendril twisting in the air. "So much."

She could feel Harley linger by the door for another moment before turning away and heading back across the yard. As soon as she felt sufficiently alone, Pam grabbed the vine and held it there, pulling slightly to see if it was removable.

It wasn't.

As she tugged, she could feel it pulling from the pit of her stomach somehow.

"OK, Dr. Isley…" she attempted to calm herself. "How about we…efficiently…assess this latest development."

Clearing her throat, Pam made her way back to the bench and took a pair of scissors out of the drawer she'd left open. Gritting her teeth, she quickly let go of the vine just long enough to snip off the end. That hurt. Not nearly as much as whatever she'd experienced with the tree had, but certainly painful still.

She then snatched a clean petri dish from atop the desk and placed the portion she'd snipped off into it, watching as if moved like a worm would without soil.

Dr. Isley just stood there, starring at it, unsure—for maybe the first time in her life—how to move forward with some semblance of scientific procedure. But then she thought back to the vine and the piano in the house, and to how it had moved according to her thought process and not her direction…like it was a part of her. And then how it had felt like she, herself, was losing a limb when they'd sawed into the tree…and this vine actually had come from her, and…she glanced down at her wrist once more, seeing the identical spirals now protruding from her forearms as well. Slowly, sheepishly, she lifted her dress back over her hips to examine her stomach, and found those same markings running through her thighs.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped back to the vine in the petri dish. _Grow_. She thought…and that's exactly what it did. Longer, thicker…it soon slithered, snakelike, off of the table and onto the ground. Like one of her genetically engineered seeds would, but this…this had come from her. This was an extension of her anatomy.

"Mutation." Ivy breathed. "It's a mutation."

But why? And more importantly, how? She'd maintained the same physiology for 55 years, and now she was suddenly drastically different? What had been the trigger? Why would—the smell.

The smell of the pheromones she was exposed to today, it was familiar not because it was similar to the ones she employed on Earth, but because she'd been exposed to a substance from the same organism before! The enzyme that dissolved her suit all those years ago, it was the alien pitcher plant's stomach acid. _You idiot, Pamela_.

So this change wasn't subtle at all, that attack had laid the ground work, this was just the final stage of the mutation. Why had she stopped performing blood tests on herself?! These changes should have been on her radar! She got complacent, that's why. Got busy and distracted. She'd taken shortcuts. There had been other things to focus on besides herself, like Harley and the kids, and…this was unsafe.

She snatched her cellphone out of the pocket of her blazer and dialed Bruce. He answered quickly.

" _Pamela?_ "

"Bruce, I need to be removed from my home on the grounds of possibly dangerous levels of toxicity."

" _What, do you have a gas leak or something? Lead in the water pipes?_ "

"No, it's me." She told him, watching the vein-like vines pulse beneath her thin skin. "I seem to have undergone some…physical alterations, the extent of which is impossible to determine using the equipment I have here. I need an evac and a quarantine."


	25. Chapter 25

"How come it's been a whole three days and we still haven't seen Mom?" Jo demanded. Or, pouted, really, as Harleen strapped her into the backseat. Something she was perfectly capable of doing on her own, but was at the moment unable to because her arms were crossed petulantly over her chest.

"Hey, Jolene, remember a whole 15 minutes ago when I said we were going to see Mom?" Harley asked, rhetorically. "Well…there we go. The wait is over."

"Yeah, but why did it take so long?!" The girl huffed. "First of all, she never gave me my present from space, and also you guys said she was gonna be home MORE because she doesn't work. So you lied."

Harley sighed, closing the back door and walking to the driver's. Anthony had been kind enough to start the car for her and he now sat in the passenger seat, his buckle done of his own accord, thank God. "We didn't know she was going to get sick, Jolene."

"What sorta sick is she?" Jo asked, looking at Harley's reflection in the rear-view mirror.

"I don't really know. Plant sick, I guess."

"Like she needs ta be watered?"

"No, not like that." Harley tried to think of a better explanation for the extremely vague one Bruce had told her over the phone. "Just…I guess she might be more—I don't know—planty?"

"Like we're gonna have to put her in a flower pot?!" Jo's intensity rose tenfold. "But, Ma! Mom says its disrespectful to put a flower in a pot that's not as pretty as the flower, and we don't have any pots as pretty as Mom!"

"Oh my God, Jo!" Anthony turned around to face his sister. "We are not going to put Mom in a flower pot! Right, Ma? We—we're not, right?"

"Of course not," Harleen assured them. "I really don't know what the deal is. I haven't seen her either."

"M—m—mama?" Jo prompted, her lip quivering and her eyes now filled with tears. "Is Mom gonna die? Cuz I know people die alotta times when they get sick, but you promised Mom would never die!"

"OK, everyone just needs to chill." Harley tried to sound stern and in control—like Pam would. "Whatever it is, it's going to be fine. Just…keep it together, please. You guys get to just hang out and meet some real-life superheroes while I talk to her, and then you will get to say hi."

Harleen glanced back at Jo then to make sure her message had been received. The girl's jaw had tightened resiliently, her eyes still glassy but now determined in their gaze. Where, to most, "putting on your brave face" was just a figure of speech, to Jo it was literal. She had perfected the brave face.

Jolene looked like Harley, that was undeniable. With her round cheeks and wide smiles, her button nose and softly angled brows. But that splash of freckles across her nose had come from Pamela. And her eyes, too. That intense, almost unnerving green. And just like her Mother, there was a coldness rooted within them that seemed easy to tap. Beautiful, yes, but dangerous too. Harley wasn't sure if Jolene meant to do it, but at rest her brow furrowed and her usually expressive features darkened, giving the illusion that whatever was behind those glimmering emeralds was something…disquieting.

Of course then Jolene would blink and grin and it feel as if Harley had hallucinated the rest of it.

Anthony was the opposite. His eyes were wide and soft and likely betrayed his emotions far too readily for his liking. He would attempt to harden his expression, just as Harleen did, by narrowing them and setting his jaw, but like Harley he would always be the deer rather than the hunter.

…Other than that he was mostly just Pam—meaning just a truly gorgeous specimen. His hands were—at the moment—twisting nervously in his lap while he stared resolutely ahead…and good lord that kid had a lot going for him, what with the cheekbones, delicate nose and cleft chin of a goddamn champion.

"Hey, Ant?" Harley murmured, startling him as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. "It's all going to work itself out."

She took his hand with the one not occupied by the steering wheel and squeezed reassuringly, and after a moment, he squeezed back, chewing on his bottom lip as he did.

"I just…" He started, his voice quiet, timid. "I wasn't very nice to her."

"Oh, Dude," Harley chuckled. "It's totally alright to be pissed at your parents sometimes. Even if she does die I swear she wouldn't hold it against you."

Anthony's jaw went slack, his eyes bugging out fearfully. "What? So there's really a chance that she'll—"

"Die?!" Jo was riled up again.

 _C'mon, Harleen…_

They took Bruce's private jet (not the Batplane, but his civilian jet) to Washington DC, and while that experience seemed to placate Jo, it had clearly amplified Anthony's anxiety.

By the time they were scaling the front steps of the Hall of Justice, Anthony's tie was completely wrinkled due to his nervous fumbling…which, of course, made him more nervous.

"Oh, here!" Jo exclaimed, snatching Harley's bag off of her shoulder and pulling out one of Anthony's gray, v-neck sweaters she'd smuggled. "I made Mama pack this cuz I thought you might get cold." Her smile was prideful, a blush rising in her cheeks.

Harleen suddenly felt guilty for just assuming Jo was stealing it…and for being complicit in that theft, which yeah, turned out not to be an actual theft, but…oh, whatever.

She passed them off to Miss Martian, who seemed delighted to meet them, smiling and humoring Jolene by shapeshifting into her, which, of course, thoroughly blew her mind.

Harleen slipped off while they were distracted, navigating the halls in search of the conference room they'd assigned her.

"Ooh, I know exactly who you are." A male voice echoed behind her.

Harley turned around, an eyebrow raised, to find…ugh. "Umm…Booster Green, right? Or…Gold. Booster Gold?"

The man gave her an almost uncomfortable look over before his face broke out into a grin. "Alright, I get it now."

"I'm sorry?" Harley adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

"You're boning the plant, right?" Booster inquired, his tone making it seem like that was a totally appropriate question. "Mad respect."

"Uhh—thanks, I guess?" She shifted under his scrutiny. "I—I think I'm lost."

"You're here to see her, right?"

"Yes, I was supposed to meet a…" she pulled the piece of paper where's she'd scribbled down the cryptic instructions out of the back pocket of her jeans and squinted at her handwriting. "Boo—oh, you."

Booster chuckled, putting a strong arm around her shoulders. "Let's go find you lady, Kid."

"I think I'm older than you," Harley mumbled as she was led through the halls, down to an elevator that they used to descend into the basement, which somehow seemed more expansive than the other floors.

"I was sort of exposed to the stuff, so they figured I might be a bit more resistant to it than someone who wasn't on the mission," Booster explained.

"Oh?" Harley was a bit confused, as she hadn't asked him a question.

"That's why I'm your guide." He clarified. "I just, thought it might be a bit strange seeing me, since—you know—it's no secret Isley isn't exactly my biggest fan. I'm sure she's complained about me."

"Mmm…" Harleen furrowed her brow in thought. "Actually, I don't think she's ever mentioned you."

"Not once?" There was some hurt in his voice that Harley was sure Pam would have enjoyed.

"Not once."

"Oh." He stopped outside of a thick door and looked to Harley. "So here's the deal…past this is the medical wing. You'll see the signs for the quarantine unit…follow those, Bruce and Barry are in there right now, I think. Good luck. Tell her I said 'hey'." And with that, he punched a code into the keypad and started back down the hallway, leaving Harley to enter by herself.

She followed his instructions, making her way past glass-walled hospital rooms that looked suspiciously like the cells one might find at Arkham, although clearly better funded.

The quarantine unit wasn't hard to find…it was clearly marked, just as Booster said it would be, and soon she was standing in front of another metal door. This one without a keypad, though.

Harley was looking around, unsure of what to do next, when the door unlatched on its own accord and slid open, revealing a dimly lit control room with an observation window. What was meant to be observed, however, was more of a mystery, as the room beyond was clouded with verdant mist.

Bruce was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans; a look Harley was only familiar with given their personal relationship. Still, it looked wildly out of place in these surroundings. She'd at least had the decency to wear a polo shirt. But Barry was wearing a lab coat, which helped things to feel at least somewhat official.

"Harleen," Barry greeted, warmly. And she couldn't help but smile in response, despite the circumstances. She liked Barry, even if she'd only had a few run-ins with him. One does not forget a man who asks to dance with your bride at your wedding.

"Barry…Bruce…" She acknowledged both men, her expression sobering when she saw the dark rings around the latter man's eyes. "So, what's the deal?"

Bruce cleared his throat, dimming the lights further in the observation room, making it easier to see into the mist. Harley took a step closer, now able to make out a shadowed figure against the far-wall of the cell.

Before her eyes could fully adjust, though, that figure was barreling forward, moving through the mist and slamming both fists on the glass.

"Harley!"

"Ah!" The blonde jumped back, alarmed by the bright green eyes seeming to stare right at her. It was Pam…or, a version of Pam, anyway. Ivy. Some terrifying variation of Poison Ivy.

Her eyes shone her angriest green, but her tone had been frantic. Her eyes were wide and fearful rather than furious. She was wearing what seemed to be a shirt the Justice League had issued her, but it was rolled up at the sleeves and held together with only two buttons just under her breasts, exposing her stomach and legs. And the view of those expanses of skin was what made Harley's guts tighten. It was as if Pamela had truly become a plant, requiring roots that ran in spiraling patterns beneath her skin. Like the veins of a human, but thicker, stronger and alive. Pulsing. Crawling.

And there were leaves too, small ones, sprouting from the ends of the thickest protrusions. Her skin, usually a vibrant emerald in her Poison Ivy form, was now iridescent, shimmering almost golden as Harleen looked closer.

"You have to help me!" Ivy's fist opened to a palm on the glass.

"Can she—can she see us?" Harley whispered.

"No," Bruce assured her. "Can't hear us either."

"Then how did—"

Barry pointed to the potted plant on the desk in front of them. "She wanted to know who would be looking in on her."

Harley bravely turned her attention back to her wife, whose chest was heaving under some invisible pressure as she leaned against the glass. The woman's red hair was greasy and unkempt in a way Harley had never seen in her before.

"She looks like crap." The blonde murmured. That's all she could say. And then, perhaps inappropriately, "I should have brought her some shampoo."

"The plants! Can't you hear them?!" Ivy's voice was desperate, her body language communicating the same. "They're crying out to me in agony!"

"W—what happened to her?" Harley asked, now not able to look away from the plant hybrid.

"We're not totally sure," Barry sighed. "See, if this were anyone else, Pam would have been our first call, but…she's clearly indisposed at the moment. Seems she's mutated somehow. Something effected the ratio of plant to human in her DNA, and she went from something nearing 50-50 to…let's just guess 70-30."

"Please, let me out." Ivy pleaded. "They'll die without me."

Harley's throat grew thick with emotion, strangling her words as they came out. "Why aren't you listening to her?"

"Because she explicitly told us not to." Bruce said, crossing his arms over his chest. "She gave us three instructions on how to handle her: 1) do not tie her down. 2) do not introduce leather into the environment. 3) do not let her out until she's fully incorporated the new stream of consciousness."

"What does that mean?" Harley wanted to know, watching as Ivy dragged her hands down the glass, leaning against it for support.

Bruce picked up a file from the desk and opened it. "According to her statement when we first admitted her…she had noticed some memory issues as of late, as well as delayed or sluggish motor skills and sensory overload. She said she just assumed the sensory stuff was connected to her PTSD, and the other two to her advanced human age."

"What?" Harley couldn't quite make sense of what she was hearing. "She didn't tell me any of this."

"Maybe she was waiting until she knew something definitive?" Barry offered.

Bruce pressed on. "She now believes those issues stemmed from her body's attempt to incorporate the plant world's stream of consciousness more fully as the mutation took over.

"More fully?" Harley almost laughed. "She can already hear them and control them. You telling me she got an upgrade on her powers?"

"Well…I suppose you could call it that," Barry admitted. "She is now able to demonstrate complete control over plant life with just a thought, as they are now an extension of herself, not just her kin."

"Meaning she doesn't need the suit anymore." Bruce sounded a bit bitter about that.

"The—upgrade—as you say, did come with some consequences, though. Like, she's currently finding the voice of the ecosystem to be overwhelming. It's louder, it's amplified and she's having trouble tuning out what she doesn't want to hear. We're bringing Superman in to help her with that tomorrow, if she hasn't already figured it out. The dude is a master of selective hearing."

"Good," Harleen nodded, pretending to be brave, though this entire situation was making her skin crawl.

"The other side effect is…" Barry cleared his throat, "Bruce?"

The taller man sighed, reaching out to the potted plant on the desk in front of him—which Harley now realized was a bonsai tree—and roughly ripping one of its branches off.

Ivy instantly screamed in agony on the other side of the glass, as if Bruce had torn one of her fingers off.

"She felt that?" Harley murmured, disbelieving. Horrified.

"Yes," Bruce affirmed, something approaching remorse in his voice.

"And what about the—the," she indicated the patient's altered anatomy.

"Right…those…" Barry leaned forward into the microphone on the control panel, his finger hesitating over the button. "You got something to piss her off?"

Harley stalled a moment, Pam's pained expression tugging on her heart strings. She didn't want to hurt her, but she knew that—at her core—Pamela was a scientist, and she had subjected herself to this. Harley needed to see what she was dealing with. So, with the pressure of tears behind her eyes, Harley told him: "Call her 'Pammy'. Tell her to be a good girl."

Barry cleared his throat, his obvious nervousness making Harley anxious. "Hey, Pammy…"

Ivy's head snapped to attention, starring straight into the control room. Straight at Harley.

"Pammy…" he repeated, glancing over at Harley, who offered him a nod. "Be a good girl, Pammy."

The redhead's eyes darted to the corner of the cell, and once she locked on to the speaker, she thrust her arm in that direction and the vine lurking just below the skin of her hand shot out, ripping its way through on a b-line straight for the speaker, which is skewered, ending any further communication.

Harley promptly leaned over and vomited.

 **Author's note: Kudos if you can tell me the three Ivy designs in this story**


	26. Chapter 26

"Let's go, guys." Harleen said, tersely.

Jolene grinned, looking happily at Miss Martian from the other end of the chess board. "We get to go see my Mom now."

"No," Harley sighed. "No you don't. Not today. We're going to get a hotel."

"What?" Anthony looked affronted as he turned in his chair. "Why?"

"We'll talk about it later," there was a bite to Harley's tone that the kids weren't used to. "Get up, let's go."

"Nuh-uh, wait a minute," Jo stood up, her expression stern. "We rode all the way here on a plane so we could see Mom."

"I know," Harley acknowledged. "But plans changed. We're not doing that today."

"But you promised!" Jo argued.

The blonde helped her son to his feet. "Yeah, well, sometimes I break my promises. Just ask your Mom." She ignored Jolene when the girl's gaze turned cold, looking at Miss Martian instead. "Thank you for watching them, M'gann."

"Oh, no, thank you!" M'gann stood, a charming, tone-deaf smile on her face. "Your offspring are wonderful, Mrs. Isley."

"Quinzel. Ms. Quinzel," Harley corrected, a bit harshly.

The teen's smile immediately dropped. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry for the error." Unlike Ivy, whose skin blushed a darker shade of green, M'gann's showed up red, her cheek's now looking unnatural against the verdant background of her typical complexion. "I was told that spouses on this planet often times take each other's family names after marriage."

"Often times, yes." Harley softened slightly, putting her hand on Jolene's shoulder to lead her in the right direction. "I appreciate the compliment to my…offspring, though."

"Of course, Ma'am." M'gann nodded emphatically. "I do not like to lie, and it would be a shame of me not to mention how much I enjoyed their company."

"Mama likes to lie…" Jo mumbled, "she does it all the time."

"Car. Now." Harley pointed towards the door.

Jo wrinkled her nose as she passed, stomping her feet all the way to her destination. Anthony wasn't much better, although he did offer M'gann a shy smile as he followed his sister.

"M'gann was just being nice, Ma." Anthony huffed, once they were all sitting in the back of the car Bruce had ordered for them. "And why would you make us miss school and drag us onto a plane just to not let us see her?"

"Excuse me," Harley leaned forward, speaking to the driver and ignoring Anthony for a moment. "Is there like a…I don't know, a Nordstrom around here or something?"

"Yes, Ma'am, about 15 minutes in this traffic." He told her.

"Fantastic," Harley sighed, her delivery not quite matching up with her diction.

Anthony looked appalled beside her. "You didn't let us see Mom because you wanted to go shopping?"

"You know what, guys? I owe you an apology." Harley's tone was clip. "Here I've been living the last 12 years of my life thinking I was the parent and you were the kids. Clearly, I made a grave error. You guys probably know best."

Jolene looked like she was going to pat herself on the back for a moment before a quick glance at her older brother communicated the proper reaction: scowling.

"Ugh…I'm sorry," Harley dragged her hands over her face, pressing her heels of her palms into her eyes. "It's…something happened to Mom. Something has been happening, I guess, for a while now, but now it's here and it's new and stressful and I don't know how to deal with it for myself, let alone for you guys." Harley crossed her fingers that they would allow her to leave it at that because the reality of what had happened was Pam had asked about her plant babies, not her actual children, and although her reasoning made sense, that might not be so easy for a 12-year-old and a 7-year-old to understand.

"What's the matter with er'?" Jo asked, her voice shaky.

"Well…" Harleen cleared her throat, straightening herself up. _You're the one that wanted kids even though you knew things could get weird. Nut up, Buttercup_. "Mom's powers have been…expanded. She…can do more cool stuff now, so…that's what she looks like."

"Expanded?" Jo furrowed her brow. "Did Mom get fat?"

Harley laughed, but Jo continued, taking this very seriously.

"Is that why we're going shopping? Cuz Mom grew out of all her clothes?"

"No, Jo." Harley shook her head. "That's not the problem. But she does need new clothes."

Pam did have a lot of clothes…a lot of blouses and skirts and tank tops and dresses…all of which would now be rendered useless for concealing her identity in the civilian world.

"She needs long sleeves…and pants…and sweaters and jackets," Harley told them.

/

Ivy sat in the corner of her cell—no, her room. She wasn't being held here. She'd asked them to keep her here. This wasn't Arkham. These people were on her side, as difficult as that was to believe.

Superman had just left, though calling him "Clark" would have been more appropriate as he'd come dressed in a checkered shirt tucked into some jeans. Pam didn't think she'd ever feel comfortable seeing these heroes dressed as regular humans…just as she'd had a hard time looking like one herself for a significant stretch of time. Now that was even more difficult—and not for psychological reasons. She couldn't affect her pigment anymore. Well…not yet, anyway. With the voices and the skin issue, Pamela essentially possessed the same control over her powers as her son had at 4 years old. And, yes, that was shameful. For the moment, though, Pamela was working hard to employ the strategy Clark had taught her for selective hearing, and some way, somehow, it was proving effective (again, just for the moment).

She'd seen her reflection; she knew there was nothing subtle about this change. There would be no hiding it from her family. She'd have to embrace it in the public sphere as well, there was no way around that.

She knew she should be angry at Harleen for something, but for the life of her, she could not remember what that was. Her short-term memory was still a bit convoluted.

Bruce said that was likely a stress response, and after she truly mastered her new powers, things would begin to clear up. Her mind wouldn't feel so foggy.

It was as if she was right back in that hospital room after the coma. Confused, overwhelmed, out of control…But this time, she wasn't alone. Bruce hadn't returned to Gotham since she'd been quarantined, she knew Barry had been attentive as well…and Clark, Kara, and Jessica had all paid her a visit, even if she hadn't seen them, she'd felt them in the next room, and that was better than anything she got back then.

And…Harleen was back for a second visit now. Ivy could feel her looking. Feel her eyes wandering over her body, studying how it had changed.

Pamela hung her head, pulling her knees to her chest because, although she'd adjusted to the artificial tropical climate of the room, she simply didn't feel like finding the pants she'd discarded was worth it. Poison Ivy wasn't modest with her "assets" by any stretch of the imagination, but this form? It would take some getting used to. And, at the moment, she certainly didn't feel beautiful.

The door unlatching startled Pam, and because her body barely felt like her own anymore, her physical reaction was greater than her mental one and she was just barely able to stop a vine from shooting forward out of her wrist. Which she supposed was an improvement, actually.

She was biting down on the side of her cheek to mute her groan of pain when a figure in a hazmat suit entered the room, the door latching shut once more behind them.

Pam knew it was Harley as soon as she took a step; from her stature, yes, but also from her gait.

The blonde didn't speak at first, just walked toward her, and that frightened Pamela. Harley always talked. Talked in bed (whether awake or asleep), talked as soon as the sun had risen or set, talked while doing the dishes or getting the kids ready for school. Talked when she was happy or anxious, when she was sad or angry…the only times she didn't talk was when she was forcing herself into silence because she knew speaking in that moment would mean wrenching her foot out of her mouth later on.

Pamela averted her gaze to stare down at her bare feet rather than watch her cautiously approach.

The first words out of Harley's mouth were, "I'm sorry," and they came out of the suit's internal microphone somewhat garbled.

"Your condolences are appreciated," Pamela mumbled.

Harley stopped a few feet in front of her, just out of reach. "No, I mean about saying the thing again. But about the rest of it too, sure."

And then it came back to her. Barry's voice over the microphone, saying what only Harley knew. _That bitch_.

Vines ripped from her forearms before she had a chance to calm her anger, and all of the sudden they had Harley hanging upside down, the panicked look on the blonde's face on full display through her helmet.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Ivy yelled in frustration, mourning the loss of the patches of skin she'd just sacrificed. Pam almost laughed for how intensely she had once hated the pain of growing a leotard. That absolutely paled in comparison to what this felt like.

The door began to unlatch once more but Harley called out for whoever was coming to stop. "It's alright. We're fine. Marriage, am I right?" She delivered the line like the opening act at a comedy show and Pam rolled her eyes in response.

Normal reaction…that's good… "We had a deal." Pam growled.

"I was just probing some phenomena, Pam. I just needed to see what we were dealing with here, that's all. And that's the thing that gets you pissed the quickest…followed by grammatical errors, industrialists, and men." That all fell out of Harley rather quickly. "In my head, I put an Oxford comma in there just for you."

Ivy scowled at her, not making any move to get her down just yet. She hoped that this display would come off as powerful because her moods had been rather unpredictable and she knew she'd be crying in no time at all. Either that or killing her wife, and really, neither was what she wanted.

"Come on, Red. Put me down," Harley's tone was calm despite her predicament. "I just wanna talk, OK? That's sorta hard to do when all the blood's rushing to my head."

Ivy turned away from her rather than obliging her.

"We missed you at home…" Harley ventured. "Me and the kids…they're here, ya know. In the lobby."

"They can't see me!" Ivy was insisted as she spun around. "Not like this—they—they can't."

Harleen was clearly trying to nod, but the suit and her positioning was making it exceedingly difficult. "It's only me in here right now, Babe. Just…let me down so I can give you a hug, please. Preferably a kiss too."

"You don't want that," Ivy decided. "I'm hideous." But her mind was clearly working against her as the vines lowered the woman back to the ground, planting her on her feet before retracting.

Harleen took another moment to look at her. Her eyes wandering unapologetically, covering every square inch of exposed skin (which was a lot at this point). "Oh, fuck it," She mumbled, pulling off her helmet and unzipping her suit.

"No, Harley, don't! I'm—"

"Oh, hush now." The blonde threw her gloves to the ground. "The readout in there says this is breathable oxygen and immune to your bullshit." And with that, she crossed the space between them and pulled her wife into a strong hug, her arms lacing around her back.

Ivy was startled—clearly. Her hands remained out like she'd intended to block the other woman, but, little by little…the warmth of a human being against her began to feel comfortable and she forced herself to hug her back, burying her nose in Harley's clean hair.

"You are so not hideous," Harley whispered. "In fact, if we didn't have an audience, I'd take you right now, I swear to God."

Pam wanted to laugh, but of course she cried instead. Gripping Harley tighter and dampening the soft cotton of her t-shirt. At least her tears were still human.

"Shhhh…." Harleen's warm breath was soothing against her skin. "You're upset, it's upsetting, it's totally unfair. It's like life has given you lemon after lemon, but not a single fucking knife or pitcher or tablespoon of goddamn sugar. This life has been absolutely, categorically, undeniably shitty to you."

Pamela couldn't remember the last time she'd sobbed, or, if she ever really had, actually. In her entire 88 years on the planet, had she ever just…cried?

Not with Woodrue, not while she was on the table…no…those tears were feverish, frightened…and then afterwards in the hospital, those were confused, angry…and then after that, she hadn't wanted to cry. She hadn't wanted to give him that. The satisfaction of her sadness…so she got angry instead. And she had been angry for a long time, oscillating between an intense, unabated fury and the overwhelming isolation that lends itself to emptiness.

"I missed you," Pam gasped, the tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"Oh, Babe…" Harley chuckled, "It was only four days."

"But I didn't think I would be the same," Pam sniffed, separating to look her in the eye. "I didn't know if this would still feel like home or if I…I started to forget the small things, Harleen, and I thought maybe I'd lost them, and then I was imagining the rest of my existence without what you've given me, and—"

"It was scary?" Harley fed her the words.

Pam just nodded, biting her lip now in embarrassment for her emotional outburst.

Harley smiled kindly, brushing Pam's red hair out of her face by pushing it straight back off her forehead, raking her fingers through it like Pam would if she were thinking (or upset, or stressed, or just…Pam). "You're not ugly, Pam…Pamela…Poison Ivy. You are powerful...and this?" Harley's eyes followed her finger as she traced an embedded tendril just below Ivy's collarbone. "This we can handle. Together. You remember our wedding vows, right? To have and to hold, through thick and thin, in health and in plant mutation, til death do us part."

"It doesn't seem like you were paying attention," Pam let a small smile slip as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Harley grinned. "Can I kiss you now, or will that kill me? Not a bad way to go out, but I think I'd like to avoid the afterlife for just a bit longer."

To answer, Pam draped her arms over the blonde's shoulders and gently brought their lips together, shivering as Harley ran her left hand down a vine that curled from beneath Ivy's breast to her upper thigh. The redhead shivered involuntarily, and Harley smiled against her lips.

"You know…" Harley separated to lean her forehead against the other woman's. "Maybe these things could be fun…"

"Knock it off, Harleen." Pam pushed away, but the blonde was still smiling.

"No, really, I don't mind em'." She assured her. "I would like to know what sorta fashion statement you're making with that shirt, though. And you've got a great ass, Babe, but I feel like you something that couldn't be plucked off might be a welcome addition down there. Just…ya know, when we go outside."

"Oh, I'm not—I'm not ready to go outside," Ivy was suddenly defensive.

Harley nodded in understanding. "How can I help?"

"I—," Pam looked at the ground. "Will you come back?"

Harley smiled. "Everyday."

/

Bruce grabbed Harley and wrapped her in a tarp as soon as she re-entered the control room, he then pulled her down the hall in the direction of the decontamination showers.

"Get her a flowing plant, get her the haircare products from her greenhouse at home, and continue to stimulate her mind. You're fucked if she gets bored. I'm serious." Harleen's instructions came fast. "Ask her for help on a problem, give her the updated emissions numbers, show her some fucking graphs, it really doesn't matter. Just make her feel important and capable, alright? That's the key to placating Poison Ivy. Tell her she's important, capable, pretty and loved. Make her prove to you that she is. She likes games. Play a game she can just barely win."

Bruce turned the water on for her. "Is that Dr. Quinzel's foolproof strategy for how to pretend like Poison Ivy is sane?"

"She is sane, Bruce." Harley stripped off her clothes and stepped underneath the spray. "Just as sane as you or I. Her mental afflictions are all treatable, I've been treating her for the last 23 years, and rather successfully, I might add. But when you tell a person they're wrong, bad and crazy from the moment they're born, chances are they might start to believe it. This is like a…rebirth for her. She's not familiar with this stimulus she's receiving, either mental or physical. She hasn't learned to combat or utilize this degree of authority, which means…"

"We have the chance to do it right this time." Bruce nearly let a smile slip.

"Yep!" Harley confirmed with a grin. "And it starts with loving her unconditionally, and not calling her crazy."


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's note: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Palmiotti and Conner**

"She's just been talking to that plant for an hour," Barry reported as Harleen entered the control room, setting a large shopping bag down on the chair Bruce wasn't occupying as he leaned against the wall talking into his cellphone.

"Well when did you give it to her?" Harley asked.

"When I got here this morning."

"And she's only been talking to it for an hour?" Something resembling concern passed over Harley's face.

"Only?" Barry turned to her so he could fully comprehend his levels of 'wtf', but then Bruce was moving forward and tapping Harley on the shoulder.

"She wants to talk to you."

Harley took the phone without further explanation and stepped out into the hallway.

"Who was that?" Barry asked.

"My wife," was Bruce's answer as he stared at Ivy through the glass.

OK, Barry was expected to deal with Sexy Swamp Thing, he got that. But this? "Wait, what? You're married?"

"No," Batman replied, nonchalantly.

 _"_ _So what's the deal?"_ Selina asked without first saying hello. _"She ugly now or what?"_

Harley sighed. "No, Selina. Her face is unchanged."

" _Tits?"_ Selina prompted.

"Same."

 _"_ _Ass?"_

"Present and accounted for." Harley assured.

 _"_ _We're excellent friends to her,"_ Selina decided, seemingly convincing herself. _"I hope she realizes that."_

"Yes, well…you clearly have her best interests in mind." Harley chided.

 _"_ _I was going to ask if her head was alright next, but don't even try to pretend she wouldn't be worried about the other stuff."_

"Fine. But why do you care? I mean…my stake in it is pretty clear, why do you care that she's still hot?"

Selina scoffed on the other end of the line. _"Everyone's a little gay for Poison Ivy, Harley. Don't think you've got that cornered just because you're married to her."_

"What?"

 _"_ _She was my desktop background for like two years, dude_." Selina was clearly distracted as she put the phone on speaker. " _Anyway, when's she coming home_?"

"Soon, hopefully." Harley scuffed her Chuck Taylor on the linoleum. "We're working on it."

 _"_ _The kids there with you?"_

"Yeah…figured I'd let them stay til the end of the week if she's not ready, then I'd send them to Barbara's."

 _"_ _Or how about mine?"_ Selina suggested.

"You don't like kids," Harley reminded her.

 _"_ _When have I ever said that? I like your kids just fine. Jo is my goddamn soul sister and Anthony's like my parent."_

"I—," Harley sighed. "Fine. Just…I doubt it will be necessary, but thank you for the offer."

"Mwah. Later dayz." And with that (appropriately odd send-off), Selina hung up.

Harley chuckled and shook her head, taking a deep breath before re-entering the room where Bruce and Barry were listening to Ivy hum to her flower as she watered it.

"Alright," Harley handed Bruce his phone. "So I think I'm going no hazmat at the beginning…it was romantic last time, but now I want not wearing it at all to mean that I trust her. She is in charge of the environment, no?"

"Yeah," Barry nodded. "That's on her."

"Perfect," Harley smiled. "So let's cross our fingers she's got her shit under control. Speaking of which…does she have her shit under control?"

"Well she hasn't just randomly screamed yet today," Barry granted. "Before she'd do that in response to what she was hearing in her head…so it seems like she's doing a better job of regulating the auditory information she's receiving."

"Awesome. No screaming is good." Harley took the shopping bags from the chair. "Any other updates?"

"Umm…I gave her a rubik's cube to play with because you told me to keep her busy…and she couldn't figure it out so she smashed it against the wall." Barry reported. "Then Bruce ran a little science trivia contest between us and she called me an idiot after she won and said my doctorate should be rescinded."

"So…normal Pam stuff, then." Harley grinned. "That's fantastic. Good job, team." She gave Barry an enthusiastic high five.

"What's the plan for today?" Bruce asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Well it would be pretty sweet if I could get her to reaffirm her commitment to her humanity," Harley confessed. "If we want to keep her on our team we have to remind her why it's worth it, otherwise…what's her incentive?"

Bruce set his mug down with a shrug. "Show us how it's done."

Ivy's fist clenched as soon as she opened the door, but no vine shot out, which Harley took as an example of her improved control.

"Good morning, Dr. Isley," Harleen greeted as she walked towards her. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Pam mumbled, not moving her attention from her flower.

"You know…Miss Martian called me 'Mrs. Isley' the other day," Harley giggled.

"Harleen Isley sounds like hot garbage," Pam told her.

"Accurate." Harley reached down into the shopping bag she was carrying and pulled out the garment on top, tossing it to Pam who finally looked up at her, a questioning look on her face.

"What's this?" She held the dress up in front of her.

"A prom dress," Harley informed. "It's to cry into next time you don't feel pretty. Sort of a time honored tradition."

"Is that what these are for?" The tone Pamela used was almost humorous. "And here I thought they were just something your Mother forced you into so you could be groped by the neighbor boy who was all set to inherit the family business."

"Mmm…" Harley narrowed her eyes. "That was oddly specific…so I'm gonna go ahead and guess that's what happened to you?"

Pam glared down at the fabric in her hands and Harley sat down next to her. "I didn't get asked to prom," Harley admitted. "But…I got asked to dance when I got there."

"I'm sure that story ends wonderfully," Pam assured.

"Uhh…yeah, no. He just thought I'd put out," Harley lamented. "He didn't grope me, though."

"How considerate of him."

"Well…he tried." Harley divulged. "But he was too drunk, so he missed."

"Like I said…" Pam folded the dress back up. "Wonderful. But I thank you for the overpriced tissue."

"You're very welcome," Harley grinned, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

That made Pam smile, even if she didn't acknowledge it. "I fixed my shirt," was what she said instead.

Harley studied her closer to find Pam had, in fact, slightly changed the way she was wearing her shirt…she'd unrolled the sleeves. Pam giggled when she saw Harley roll her eyes.

"Oh, I see how it is," Harley laughed. "Are you trolling me, Pamela Isley?"

"I assume you don't mean in the context of the mythological creature…"

"No, that's definitely not how I meant it," Harley chuckled, grabbing what was left out of the bag. She placed a folded pair of jeans and yellow cashmere sweater on Pam's lap. "The kids picked this outfit for you. I told them you might need a new wardrobe."

Pam brushed her fingers gently atop the sweater's soft material, employing the same reverence as she would if she were holding one of her flowers. "Why yellow?"

Harley shrugged. "Anthony said yellow for redheads is very in right now."

Pam stopped, staring down at the clothing for a moment as she bit her lip. Suddenly, she brought her gaze to meet Harley's. "You don't think Anthony is gay, do you?"

"I—what?" The blonde laughed. "Because he's interested in fashion?"

"Well—I—just…he seems to be passionate about that…and what with his music…besides, he has yet to express interest in a girl…" Pam was stumbling, which was somehow adorable despite the fact that she now looked like the type of supervillain that horny adolescent nightmares were made of.

"Alright, ya lesbian." Harley crossed her arms. "Time to turn in your stash of baseball caps and flannels."

Pam looked downright offended. "Me? In a baseball cap?"

"Well, yeah!" Harley went right along with her wife's literal interpretation. "How the heck else are ya supposed to keep the sun out of your eyes when you're—I don't know—walking the dogs or…loading your softball equipment into our Subaru."

"We don't—Oh," Pam suddenly looked relieved. "You're—you're chastising me for being stereotypical."

"You got me," Harley smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind Pam's ear. "I see you washed your hair…did that feel good?"

"Yes, I'm not a child." Pam huffed, running a hand through her hair herself now. "Just because I acted that way yesterday doesn't mean-,"

"Wait," Harley's brow was furrowed when she interrupted her. "You think…Babe, being vulnerable doesn't make you childish, it makes you human."

"As if that's so much better," Pam scoffed.

"Do you…" Harley cleared her throat. "Do you still feel human?"

Pam took a beat before answering, and when she did, she kept her eyes downcast. "Would you still love me if I wasn't?"

Twice now, Harleen had been surprised by Pamela's display of vulnerability during this transition. This time, though, she'd asked a yes or no question, and thinking it over, Harley realized it could harm Pam's recovery regardless of the answer she provided. If she were to say no, Pam could grow angry with Harley as she'd been promised unconditional love, but, it could also motivate her to want to hold onto her humanity. The distinction there relied on just how much this physiological change had altered her thought process and how important Harley really was to her. On the other hand, Pam had once told her that Harley was the reason she even wanted to be a human at all…so agreeing to love her even if she were to let go of her humanity could mean condoning Ivy's slip back into singlemindedness—a trait that hadn't exactly done her too many favors over the years as it was mainly a coping mechanism to distract from the various traumas she'd experienced.

Harleen watched Pam for some indication of what she wanted the answer to be…but the redhead just starred at the ground, flexing her bare toes in the dirt Bruce had brought in.

Harley eventually decided that the best course of action was to take herself out of the equation completely. Make this Pam's choice.

"Would you still love me if you weren't?" Harley asked. "Is that an emotion you think you could be capable of without your humanity?"

"Perhaps…" Pam wisted.

"Perhaps not." Harley played the (very biased) devil's advocate before reaching out and taking her wife's hands. "It's important, Pamela, to really know what you want. Now more than ever. To know if you still want me…or still want you, even. If you still want Pamela."

"Lillian Isley," Pam amended, bringing a smile to Harley's face as she corrected her omission. "Doctor."

"Doctor. Yeah, Poison Ivy has a lot of responsibility to shoulder. Your plants need you, absolutely. And I know you can hear. I know they're louder now. But Pamela has some responsibilities too." Harley interlaced their fingers. "Like me…and Anthony…and—,"

"Jo." Pam finished.

"And Jo," Harley nodded. "And I mean, like, I know we're not the entire ecosystem or anything…and I know it'll be even harder than before, but I think if anyone could balance the two, it would be you."

"No, I can do it," Pam said (like it was her idea), suddenly resolute. "I can be both like before—I, don't worry," she removed her hands from Harley's and went to cup her face instead. "I'll be there for you. Always. I—I love you so much."

"I know that," Harley smiled, _don't cry, don't cry. You always cry_.

"No, I don't think you do," Pam professed, almost like it pained her. "There's only one thing I love more than plants, Harleen."

"Is it Selina?" Harley blurted out, her body just spitting out a joke because she couldn't fully accept Pam's confession. The way all her attention was focused on her. After 23 years of marriage…in a Justice League quarantine room…after an alien substance decided to throw yet another complication at her…Pamela was still the same woman who'd kissed her outside the police station that day, who'd switched sides for her, who'd invited her to move in after she was paralyzed, who tried to give her a romantic proposal (even if she'd ruined it), who'd beamed as she wheeled herself up the aisle, who'd given her their children and stitched up every cut…soothed every bruise…

Pamela—Ivy was human. Absolutely. She always had been, even when she fought it, even when she despised it…

"No, Harley," Pam chuckled. "It's you. It's my family."

 _Pfft, as if you fucking deserve her, Harley_ … "Buuut…"

"No buts," Pam looked into her eyes with every ounce of sincerity she possessed. "It's true. I can be both. I just need—I need you to trust me."

"I trust you, I trust you," Harley promised as she surged forward into a kiss, her arms wrapping tightly around Pam's neck.

Barry couldn't even look at her when Harley reentered the control room, her movements a bit timid after remembering these guys had just watched her have a full on make out session with her wife. "So…" he ventured, glancing uncomfortably over at Bruce. "I guess…mission accomplished?"

"I'll say," Harley scoffed.

"Is that just—is that just the way she is?" Barry questioned. "Do you guys just live in the last 10 minutes of a romance movie like 24/7?"

"No…but she's pretty fucking great," Harley acknowledged.

Bruce, who had remained silent up until this point, cleared his throat. "Do you think she's ready to go home?"

"Well I'm definitely ready for her to come home…"

"Tomorrow." Bruce decided. "I'll call Clark in, get him to do one more session, and if things are still looking this good, I'll release her back into your supervision by the afternoon."

"Thank you," Harley breathed. "Both of you. For all you've done for her."

"I've learned the hard way to give Poison Ivy what she wants," Barry smiled. "And what she wants is you."


	28. Chapter 28

Pam smoothed her hands down her thighs in a nervous, repetitive motion, feeling the ridges of the vines beneath the fabric of her jeans. Harleen had assured her they weren't visible, but how could that be the case when she could feel them pulsing below her skin?

Bruce cleared his throat, reminding Pam that she wasn't the only person in the elevator. "You'll send me your report on the pigmentation issue?" His tone was professional; like she was still a lawyer working for Wayne Enterprises.

"As soon as there is something to report—yes." Ivy told him.

Bruce nodded, slowly turning back to face front, looking at their reflections in the shiny metal of the elevator door.

And Pamela looked too. She was all the same above the neck, the mutation hadn't affected her facial features. Harleen said it would be up to her how she wanted to explain the rest of it to the children, how much she wanted to reveal.

Her eyes flitted to Bruce. Nearing 60 now, he wasn't attempting to hide his age by dyeing his hair. Gray flecks were scattered about, and although he was aging rather well (as men who took care of themselves typically did), Pamela could see in his eyes that he was getting older. He kept himself in good shape, although he wasn't donning his cape all that frequently anymore…with his connection to Talia, Pamela had always assumed he'd find a way to escape ageing with grace, but…no, he was, indeed, allowing himself to grow older. She respected him for that, although why, she wasn't quite sure. Perhaps it was rooted in some degree of jealousy that when his time was up, it would be up. He wouldn't have to force himself to continue with this 'purpose' for the rest of Earth's existence.

"Do you consider me a friend, Pamela?" Bruce asked, suddenly.

Surprised, Ivy almost laughed. "I'm sorry?"

"After all this time…all these battles, against each other, side by side…what are we?" He didn't turn to her, but continued to stare at her reflection.

While it was true Batman had never truly been her enemy, more just a nuisance, and Bruce Wayne hadn't ever been the sort of industrialist to encourage clear cutting or any of the other vile practices Ivy despised so thoroughly. At this point, though, even now that they were working toward a common goal, she'd never presumed them to be anything more meaningful than colleagues.

Ivy didn't have any friends…save Selina, Barbara and Harleen, although the latter hardly counted. And what was a friend, truly? Pamela hadn't had many either in her time, so as elementary as it sounded, that was a valid question to ask. Harleen would say a friend is someone you can trust. Someone who has your best interests in mind and is there for you when you need it.

"I suppose." Pam offered. "If we're judging by the clinical definition."

"I wasn't aware there was a clinical definition of friendship," he smirked.

Pam pursed her lips. "Although I resent your cocky disposition, I'm not too proud to express gratitude when it's been earned."

"So…?"

"Thank you."

Bruce smiled. A real smile, which anyone who truly knew him would tell you was an altogether rare occurrence. "You would have done the same for me."

"No I wouldn't of."

"I know," Bruce chuckled. "But I'd like to think that you would answer the call…if I ever made one."

Pamela didn't answer, as that was the moment the doors slid open. Instead, she stepped into the main hall, looking across the marble expanse for—

"Mom!" Jolene's girlish voice echoed in the cavernous room.

Pam's face split into a wide smile as she watched Jo drop Harleen's hand and start at a sprint towards her. The redhead braced for impact, kneeling down and opening her arms just before Jo reached her, the girl throwing her arms around her neck and relentlessly kissing her cheeks. Pam had to use all her abdominal strength to keep them upright.

When Jo finally allowed for a bit of room, Pam found the girl's face was soaked with tears.

Jo placed her hand gently on her Mother's cheek, looking into her eyes, her bottom lip quivering. "You're OK."

"I'm OK," Pam confirmed, covering the hand on her cheek.

And then Jo was sobbing. "Mama said you were gonna die!" she buried her face in Pam's neck as Harleen and Anthony approached.

"I did nothing of the sort," Harley assured her.

Pam shook her head, stroking Jolene's hair gently as the girl clung to her. She'd been apprehensive about seeing her children, worried they'd notice something was different about her, worried they wouldn't look at her the same way…but in that moment, holding her daughter in her arms…all of those feelings and worries washed away, replaced by a deep appreciation for all she had been blessed with. Harleen was wrong when she said life had only handed her lemons. These powers were a gift, regardless of how she came about them. She was handed the means to single handedly inspire a new relationship between humans and nature. And this…her family…

Pam thought back to the day after she left the hospital the first time. How different that experience was from this. How no one had been there when she was released. How she'd hailed a cab and was dropped off at her parent's house where she promised she would give them one last chance. Even at her most unhinged, when her mind was still sick and convoluted. When it was all she could do to walk straight, let alone control her emotions. How even then she had given them one last chance, and they'd failed—again.

"You have to be taught not to love your Mother," Pam had told Harley, 23 years ago on the lawn of a different hospital…these kids, though. The ones that were hers—that were theirs—they hadn't been taught that lesson. They loved her, Pamela realized. Really, truly loved her. Feared for her safety, wanted to know she was OK…and not because they were afraid of her or desperate to impress her (although maybe that was mixed in there, relationships can be complicated) no, they didn't crave her affection—they knew they already had it. They loved her because they were loved. And that felt…important, somehow.

A knot twisted in her stomach as Pam realized this was what unconditional love felt like. She was familiar with the concept, but had never truly had the opportunity to experience it in a human relationship. But then she glanced at Harleen, who was holding Anthony's hand as he stared down at his sneakers, and saw the smile on her face—how warm it was, how kind. And Pamela finally understood what it was to be human. Why it was worth it.

She reached her hand out to Anthony, and he took it with his free one without first looking up.

"I'm really sorry." He murmured.

"For what?" Pam asked as Jo pulled back.

"For saying you didn't want to be our Mom," he told her, finally looking at her, his blue eyes glistening.

Pam released Jo after planting a kiss on her forehead, and then stood up, taking Anthony's other hand from Harley and looking at him with a sigh. He was nearly her height at this point, and so…handsome. It made her proud to look at him, to see the young man he was becoming. "I will never stop being your Mother, Anthony. I just want—,"

"We don't have to talk about it right now," He cut her off, pulling her into a hug. "You're not dead, that's more important."

"She good?" Harleen directed her question at Bruce, who had been watching the exchange with a smile on his face. "Does she have all her shots or do we need to stop at the vet on the way home?"

"Really, Harl?" Pam scolded as Anthony let her go. "I don't get even a moment of sentimentality?"

"You've had plenty," Harley asserted.

"Yes," Bruce acknowledged, answering the blonde's question. "She's good to go."

"Thank you for making my Mom better, Mr. Wayne." Jo said, sticking her hand out to be shaken. "And don't worry," she assured. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Oh?" Bruce's eyes sparkled with mirth and he reached to shake her hand. "And what secret might that be?"

"That you're Batman, stupid." Jo laughed. "Just like I figured out Aunty Barbara is Batgirl."

"Well, aren't you a smart girl." He retracted his hand and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, I'm a genius." Jo informed him, matter-of-factly.

Bruce spoke to Ivy: "I see you're raising her in your image."

"We encourage a realistic sense of self," Pam assured him.

The man smirked and leaned down to speak to Jo once more. "And are you a gymnast too?"

"Pfft, yeah." Jo said like this was a fact that should have been obvious. "They moved me up two age groups at the gym."

"Good." Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Call me when you're ready."


	29. Chapter 29

_"_ _Happy birthday dear Harley—happy birthday to you!"_

Harley grinned as the singing devolved into cheers and claps.

"Make a wish, Ma!" Jolene urged excitedly.

 _Make a wish_ , Harley sighed, _Ok…umm…life? Please stop being a bitch to Pam. And—uh—it would be sweet if the kids would stay healthy…and me too, I guess. So—cheers?_ And with that thought, she blew out all 50 meticulously lighted candles, giving a little bow to everyone as the clapping resumed.

"Happy birthday," Pam whispered, kissing her cheek before making the first cut of the cake.

"Alright, kids first," Selina dictated. "You can eat it in the living room, but if you spill on my couch I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Damian," Pam offered him the first piece.

"I'm not a kid," the boy huffed.

Pam raised an eyebrow. "Can you drive?"

"Well—no."

"Purchase alcohol?"

"No."

"Cigarettes?"

"No."

"Can you legally get married without your parent's consent? Can you get into an R rated movie?"

Damian snatched the slice of cake away from her rather than answer, sulking into the living room with his shoulders slumped.

Harley chuckled at Pam's self-satisfied expression.

"I want a big piece," Jo instructed.

"How big?" Pam asked

"As big as my head." Was the girl's response.

"I've got a better idea," Harley took the knife from her wife. "You ever seen Beetlejuice, Jo?"

The girl frowned, "Yeah? You showed it to us, 'member?"

"I do remember…" Harley nodded, cutting Jo a normal sized slice.

"Hey! That's way smaller than my head." Jo complained.

"Right," Harley acknowledged. "But if you were Pinhead, it would be perfect." She handed it to the girl and gently pushed her into the direction of the living room.

Anthony just smiled, silently taking his piece from the table and following his sister. "Happy birthday, Ma." He told her as he left.

Now was the time. They were alone. Just Pam, Bruce, Selina, Barbara and Dick. Harley cleared her throat, "OK, so—listen—,"

"Cake first, then announcements." Dick pleaded, holding his hands out in hopes a slice would find its way to him.

"Fine," Harley conceded, having Pam pass him one. "Anyone else?"

Everyone raised a hand, Selina the most hesitantly, but her intentions were still clear.

With a sigh, Harley served the rest of them, and then herself. "How about now? You ready to listen."

Dick responded by smiling, his mouth full of cake. Barbara offered a thumbs up while Bruce and Selina simply sat down at the table expectantly, watching Harley as they ate.

"Great," the blonde exhaled, taking their attention as a good sign. "So, look, guys…I'm—,"

"An asshole?" Selina guessed.

"Pregnant?" was Dick's.

"Not hungry?" Barbara raised an eyebrow at Harley's untouched slice of cake.

"Let her speak," Bruce intoned.

"Pregnant was the worst guess," Pam let everyone know, sitting down at the table as well.

"Pam! Don't encourage them." Harley scolded, taking another deep breath and putting her hands on her hips. "I'm retiring. I'm really fucking old and I'm retiring."

"Huh…" Selina sat back in her chair. "Funny. My next guess was going to be 'really fucking old'."

"You're older than me," Harley reminded her, and not exactly kindly.

The brunette's immediate response was to flip Harley off, but Bruce wrestled her hand down. "In what capacity are you retiring, Harley?" He asked.

The blonde was grateful for an actual question. "I'm turning in my cowl." She told him. "I'm just—look, I was absolutely blessed to be able to be a part of this family…but, it's just—it's just time. I have total faith in Barbara, total faith in Dick…I'll help with recruiting moving forward, if you'd like. Or whatever else you want to use me for, really. Except for sex. Sorry, guys. Pam and I have been exclusive for like 4 months now. Going strong, Babe!"

"Harley, Jesus…" Pam pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Alright, alright. Sorry, sorry," Harley apologized, getting back on track. "I just can't be Batwoman anymore. I think it's time for Barbara to take up the mantle. Even with all the performance enhancing bullshit Pam pumps into me, I'm slower, I'm weaker, I bruise easier, it takes longer for me to recover…It's time for me to be done."

Bruce was nodding slowly, Dick starring at his hands in his lap, and Barbara's cheek's reddening as she looked from Harley to Bruce.

"I understand," Bruce said, finally. "I'm…sad," he admitted, rather awkwardly. "But I understand."

"I'm sure Barbara's transition will be seamless," Pam assured him. "She's been ready for this for quite some time."

Harley nodded in agreement.

Dick moved his hand to where Barbara's was placed atop the table and held it, a smile growing on his face. Barbara was blushing, and that made Harley smile as well. Here was a person, 36 years old at this point, finally able to graduate from a 'girl' to a 'woman'. She had been 11 years old when Pam first met her, and from that moment, for whatever reason, she was seared into Pam's memory. Something about the girl had just stuck, and thank God it did, as Barbara was one of the most wonderful human beings Harley had ever had the pleasure of knowing in her 50 years on this planet. Passing the torch to her felt safe, and Harley was grateful for the opportunity.

"To Barbara" Harley raised her piece of cake in a toast. "For your hard work, for your dedication, I believe in you, Babs. Always have. The new matriarch of the Bat-Family."

The rest of the table all raised their plates. "And to Harleen," Dick piggybacked. "As someone who has worked for Bruce just a little longer than you, let me just say that 25 years in this world feels like no joke. I find the ones in costumes with medical degrees tend to be on the other side of the fence…so…thanks for being _here_."

Harley quickly glanced at Pam, who was choosing to ignore that, evidently. With a smile, she thanked Dick for his words and sat down with a plop at the head of the table next to Pam. The redhead rubbed reassuring circles on her back as she took her first bite of cake. Selina had procured it from some upscale bakery…the kind of shop Harley would normally roll her eyes at the mention of, but holy shit this was good cake.

It was 9:30 on a school night before Pam had the kids in the car. Selina had already left, as she'd forgotten to get Harley a birthday present and felt the need to remedy that immediately. Dick and Barbara were both assigned to patrol that night—and for Barbara it would be her first time in the field without another woman as her senior. Harley's Batwoman suit would be retired to the cave and a new one would have to be made before the torch could truly be passed, but tonight was still meaningful, even without the proper uniform.

Harley had been sent back inside in search of Jolene's coat when Bruce stopped her.

"Harleen…" He said, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, forcing her to divert her attention away from the task at hand.

"Bruce," the blonde sighed. Not impatiently, just…in acknowledgment.

Silently, he crossed the room, and in one motion pulled her into a firm hug. Harley didn't get hugged by men all that often these days, being that she was married to a woman and her son was 12 and not quite sure if hugging his Mom was cool anymore.

In the 25 years she'd known Bruce, Harley couldn't recall ever being hugged by him…not even in the hospital after the Joker incident. But this was not unwelcome in any sense. She liked Bruce. No, actually, she loved him. Like a brother or sometimes even a father. He'd seen something in her that day they met at Arkham. He said it was something about her compassion for her patients. She remembered the night he'd offered her the position—offered her a chance to be a hero, truly, not just for the villains of the city, but for the people as well. She remembered the pride that she felt that night. How good it was to be desired. A lot had changed since then. She'd changed, as had he, maybe…although she doubted it. There was something about Bruce that was just unwavering. But Selina's journey to sobriety—that had changed him. Harley had seen it, how he'd taken in and understood Selina's suffering. It bonded them, it allowed them to somehow mean more to each other.

"Thank you," Bruce was saying, his voice muffled into her hair. She wasn't really aware of just how tightly he was holding her before.

"No, Bruce." Harley said. "Thank you."

His expression was somber when they separated. Not sad, exactly, but certainly earnest.

"You'll need another Batgirl before you can have Jo," Harley smiled, although it was a bit forced. "Let me help you find her."

"I think I already have," Bruce told her. "But she'll need a psych eval before I put her in the suit."

Harley nodded, a much more genuine expression overtaking her features now. "Put me in, Coach."

/

Pam sent the kids to bed as soon as they got home, knowing both had homework to do. They went without much protest as Harley had made it clear their cooperation was one of her birthday wishes.

Harley herself seemed to be in some sort of daze. A glazed-over, wistful smile had been painted onto her face the entire ride home. Pam supposed 50 years old would be an important mile stone for a (full) human. A half a century of life was not insignificant. Besides that, Harley had been working with Bruce for a long time. Half her life, as a matter of fact. The job had fulfilled Harley, kept her grounded, kept her feeling…relevant. Pam realized it would be a significant change for her, but just as Harley had helped Pam through all of her changes, she was determined to return the favor.

A vine reached out from the potted plant in the corner and helped Harley out of her jacket, hanging it up on the hook. At the same time, a vine from the kitchen window box put the teakettle on the stove and readied the ingredients for hot chocolate.

"Did you enjoy your party?" Pam asked, attempting to mask the hope in her voice.

Harley blinked, clearing her eyes as she gave Pam her full attention. "Yeah, yeah I did." Harley slipped her arms around Pam's waist. "Did you take your pigment shot today?"

"Nope," Pam said, proudly. "What do you think?" She held up her hand for Harley to examine. The tone was even, although its pale coloring made her look a bit too much like a doll for Pam's liking. There was no difference in tone between she and Harley's complexions now.

"Impressive. Most impressive." Harley smiled back, after affecting what Pam could now identify as Harley's Darth Vader impression.

"One marshmallow or two?" Pam asked.

"The more the merrier, of course," Harley laughed, clapping excitedly when a vine delivered her a mug of hot cocoa stuffed to the brim with marshmallows. "So is this my present?" she asked after taking her first sip.

"No," Pam grinned, taking Harley's free hand and leading her into her office. She could tell Harley was about to make some smartass remake beginning with 'awe, you shouldn't have' in reference to her desktop computer or the printer, so Pam proactively silenced her by placing a gently finger on her lips.

Turning away from the other woman, the redhead opened the closet behind her, revealing Harley's Batwoman outfit in a glass case, displayed the same way the others were in the Batcave.

Harley looked surprised, and then confused. With her brow furrowed she asked, "I don't get it. Pam, is that my suit?"

"Well…not exactly." Pam admitted. "It's actually just an incredibly expensive replica.

The blonde turned to her. "Why?"

"For brooding, of course," Pam told her like it was obvious. "In case you ever need to dramatically stand in front of some representation of your former self and question what you stand for. All heroes do it. I see it every day at The Watchtower."

"Pam, that's—oh my God," Harley laughed. "Pam, this is amazing! But how did you—I mean—this thing looks pretty much perfect. Where did you even find it?"

"The internet," was Pam's answer. "Overall, it's a truly frightening place, but after I got through all the fetish sites, I was able to find some rather dedicated fans of yours, and…anyway, I paid for it. That's what's important here."

With a wide smile on her face, Harley turned back to face the costume, putting her hands on her hips as she did. They stood there, both silently examining it behind the glass for a moment before Harley spoke. "I looked pretty good in that thing, huh?"

"You did," Pam agreed.

"It's a shame we never got to—well you never got to…appreciate that." Harley lamented.

Pam nodded slowly. "Yes, a shame…certainly."

"No touching in costume, no kissing in costume…certainly no fucking in costume," Harley recounted their rules aloud, rocking back on her heels.

"Mm," Pam nodded once more, letting another silence descend between them. "So, do you want to—?"

"Oh, God yes," Harley quickly pulled the case open.


	30. Chapter 30

"Jo," Harleen whispered in the girl's ear as she slept cuddled close to her stuffed unicorn. "Jo, it's time for school."

"No, Mama…" she moaned, her voice gravely with sleep, eyes still tightly shut. "It's not time for school."

Harley sighed, sitting down on the bed now. "It is, and you need to get up."

"But I don't wanna…" the girl argued, unmoving.

"I don't want to do a lot of things, but sometimes you just have to." Harley pat her on the shoulder. "Those are the facts of life, Kid."

"Go away," Jo grumbled.

Harleen was about to remind her that if she left, Jo would go back to sleep again and they'd have to start this entire process over when her phone rang. _Jesus, 6:45?_ And a number she didn't recognize… "Yeah?" She answered.

 _"Hello,"_ a woman's voice said on the other end of the line. _"I'm looking for a Dr. Harleen Quinzel."_

"Well you got her." Harley stood up. She could hear Jo let out a contented celebratory sigh as she headed for the door. Pam was coming down the hallway, though, so Jo was in for a world of hurt.

"How can I help you?" Harley asked the woman on the phone before rolling her eyes at her wife. "What are you doing?" She silently mouthed to Pam, gesturing to her shirt: a button down she was wearing in the same style as she had in her cell, buttoned just twice below her bosom.

"What?" Pam mouthed back.

"Your—," Harley gave up, saying "One moment," into the phone before pressing it into her shoulder. "Are all your shirts broken? What are you doing?" She hissed.

Pam looked confusedly at her before turning her gaze down to her shirt. "Oh, I don't know. It's comfortable."

"And pants? Couldn't be bothered to put those on either?" Harley questioned, referring to her panty-clad lower body.

Pam looked down at herself once more and shrugged. "It feels like I am wearing them."

Harley sighed, moving forward with the phone still resting on her shoulder to button the other woman's shirt the rest of the way. "You're lucky you're hot," she grumbled. Then, when she'd finished, "Can you finish waking Jo up?"

Pam groaned, but pushed passed her towards Jo's room anyway.

"Just remember she's 50% you!" Harley called after her. When she'd disappeared into the bedroom, Harley turned and continued down the hall, putting the phone back on her ear. "I'm so sorry. My wife was having a fashion emergency."

 _"That's perfectly alright,"_ the woman said. _"And I wasn't aware you were married to a woman."_

"Yeah, well, it's a lot like being married to a man, just it was illegal for a while," then Harley caught herself. "I'm sorry, who is this?"

 _"I'm Vicki Vale. From S.T.L.I. Publishing House?"_

 _I knew I should have saved that number_. "Right! Yes, of course. Hi, Sorry—and sorry again, for apologizing too much," Harleen laughed nervously.

Vicki chuckled too. _"You're fine. I'm just checking in on that contract we sent you last month."_

 _Fuck_. "You're still waiting on my pitch, aren't you." Harley said it like she was disappointed with herself.

 _"I—I am, yes."_ Harley could hear the woman's smile through the phone.

"Alright," Harley sighed, closing herself into her bedroom. "I'm just going to level with you here, Vicki: I don't have one. And I also don't understand why you guys are even interested in my book, you're not exactly known for your works of academia. Don't you guys do like true crime and self-help books?"

 _"Well, yes…"_ Vicki admitted. _"But see, you're an interesting case on your own, Dr. Quinzel. Former collegiate athlete turned one of the top psychiatrists in the country, worked for 15 years with Arkham Asylum's most dangerous patients…"_

"And?" Harley prompted, knowing what would come next.

Vicki gave a little laugh. _"And your work with Poison Ivy. Am I really that transparent?"_

"No, it's alright," Harley sat down on the bed. "I'm just used to it at this point. And I understand, Poison Ivy is a fascinating case…"

 _"And you are still her doctor, correct? Her treatment is ongoing?"_ Vicki asked.

Harley cleared her throat. "That's a bit…complicated, but yeah. Regardless, I'm not sure it's a topic I feel comfortable writing about, especially seeing as she's still officially my patient."

 _"Well if you're worried about the legality of it, all it takes is a simply signature for her to allow you to speak on your sessions together."_ Vicki reminded her.

"Look—Ivy is…she's fragile." Harley said, not sure how else she could explain it. "And she's a very private person. I just don't see her going for it."

 _"Dr. Quinzel,"_ Vicki began, her tone a bit more meaningful than before. _"When people hear your name, they think of Poison Ivy. It was a major success, and that's what defines you now, for better or worse. People want to read about her, but they also want to read about this magical woman who somehow got one of the world's most infamous Eco terrorists to suddenly start fighting the good fight."_

 _Goddamn it_. "So what are you saying?"

She could hear Vicki's chair creak. _"I'm saying you don't need a pitch because I just pitched you."_

/

 _No, don't worry, Honey_ , she'd said. _I'll water them._ _You just relax_.

 _You idiot, Harley_.

She had volunteered hoping that her helpfulness would put Pam in an amicable mood. One that allowed for some discussion…

See, Harley had made a mistake. Not a _huge_ one, exactly…well, OK, maybe a huge one. A significant one, at least. Or it felt significant. The issue was that the decision didn't exactly belong to her…yet she'd still made it. Perhaps if circumstances had been different, if her life hadn't worked out so well (or so uniquely), perhaps then she would have had more say in this.

Harleen felt bad about it. Terrible, even. She didn't enjoy feeling like a villain, believe it or not. Actually, it was pretty shitty. But—she'd gotten excited. She'd been given an opportunity and she'd taken it. In the moment, she knew it was a mistake, but she also hoped that—maybe—just maybe, Pam would understand (eventually).

"Uh, hey, Red?" Harleen called out over the sound of the running hose to where Pam was sunbathing on the back deck. She didn't answer, which likely meant she either couldn't hear her or had fallen asleep, so Harley cleared her throat and tried again. "Pam-a-lam?"

…

"Babe?"

…

"Sweety? Sweetheart?"

…

"Pumpkin-Pie?"

…

"Bitch, wake up!" Harley yelled.

Pam slowly raised the brim of her sunhat and pulled her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"No, but maybe you could help yourself!" Harley was passed exasperated at this point. Sweaty, overheating—she hated gardening, except for when it was a euphemism, which in this case it wasn't. "You have way too many plants! This is insane! I've literally been watering for an hour straight! You're a hoarder is what you are, Pamela Isley."

The redhead was either uninterested or unimpressed, Harley couldn't tell which, because she pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose and laid her head back once more. "They are my children, Harleen. You can't hoard children."

"Oh, you most certainly can!" Harley challenged. "Just look at Bruce! There's a reason we stopped at two."

Pam sighed. "Would you like me to take over?"

"No," the blonde huffed. "I started it, I'm gonna finish it."

"Will you continue to complain as you do?" Pam inquired, her tone nonchalant. "My brave martyr, so selfless. My knight in shining armor, come to deliver me, a poor, helpless maiden, from the—,"

Her sentence ended with a scream when Harley turned the hose on her. The blonde was doubled over with laugher at the look of complete fury on her wife's face. But soon after, a grunt of pain came from Pam and Harley looked up immediately to find the redhead squeezing her arms between her legs, her jaw clenched, her sunglasses clattering to the ground for how quickly she'd sat at attention.

"Fuck," Harley groaned, dropping the hose and grabbing onto the slats of the fence, yanking herself up, over the railing and onto the porch. "Hey, hey, hey, hey…" Harley knelt down in front of the other woman, placing her hands gently on her knees.

Pam's eyes were screwed shut. "I hate being so angry," she mumbled, her pronunciation poor as her jaw remained clenched.

"Oh, no you don't," Harley chuckled, peppering kisses up the other woman's legs, lingering in the places where the vines bulged and pulsed beneath her skin. "You hate that you can't just be angry. That it's _this_ every time now."

Pam grumbled something incoherent, and when she opened her eyes, her pupils consisted of only the faintest outlines of black, her sclera taken over completely by the green that should have belonged solely to her irises.

 _Yeah, that will never not be creepy_. Harley smiled as warmly as she could manage and kissed her on the cheek. "You gotta separate the physical from the emotional, Babe. I know it's a thought process thing now, but every time I get pissed I don't reach my arm out and punch somebody. This," she tapped her fingers gently on the vines in Pam's arms. "Can't be autonomic. But blah blah blah, you already know all that shit," Harley mocked herself. "You wanna play golf today?"

"What?" Pam's eyes were beginning to fade back to normal. "Golf? Why?"

"Well…we're old." Harley answered, simply, moving to sit at the foot of Pam's lounge chair. Fun, pleasant small talk. She hoped that would do the trick. "And retired. That's what old retired people do, right? They golf?"

"Or garden."

"I already did." Harley grinned, wiping at some of the water that had splashed onto Pam's chest.

The redhead rolled her eyes and released her arms, getting up and walking down the steps towards the hose Harley had abandoned.

"Ugh, you're no fun." Harley pouted, haughtily crossing her arms.

"This needs to get finished one way or another," Pam told her.

"Oh my God," Harley laughed after watching her for a moment (seeing an opening). "I just realized something."

"Congratulations?" Pam offered.

Harley took a big gulp from Pam's water glass and jumped back down off the porch. "We were—like—crazy busy people."

"Yes…" Pam agreed, unsure where this was going.

"And now we're…just…we're not anymore, really. I mean, you still work, but we just went from four jobs between us to one."

"You are correct." Pam splashed a bit of water on Harley's leg in what the blonde perceived as a purposeful offense.

Harley grinned and grabbed the other woman around the waist, lifting her off of her feet.

"Harleen! Put me down!"

The blonde was giggling. "We're gonna get so sick of each other." She hugged her close, like a giant teddybear Jo might beg them to buy her from Costco.

"Plants prefer to be rooted, Harley." Pam complained, kicking until her wife returned her to her feet.

"I'm so excited!" Harley clapped before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "We're gonna be old and bickery and it's gonna be awesome."

Pam finally allowed herself to laugh. "You're so strange."

"Oh yeah," Harley agreed, nodding ardently. "And you get to deal with all of this jazz 24/7."

"Lucky me," Pam smirked. She then turned the hose on the other woman without further warning.

"Hey! No, stop!" Harley was laughing, her hands up in hopes of defending herself against the spray. "That's not fair!"

"Yeah, well, life isn't fair." Pam shrugged, attempting to maintain an austere expression, even if she was failing miserably.

"OK, you have to promise not to get mad," Harley warned. But before Pam could answer, the blonde was tacking her to the ground like Jo would in a flag football game.

"Ow!" Pam complained.

"Bullshit," Harley laughed, straddling her waist and leaning over to pin her studded arms above her head. "With all the crazy stuff that rips out of your skin, you think I'm really gonna believe that hurt?"

Pam rolled her eyes. "You know I could get you off of me in a heartbeat, right?"

"I do…" Harley bent down and ghosted her lips across the other woman's. "But I don't think you will."

"You're getting me all wet," Pam complained, avoiding her wife's assertion, as it was clearly true.

Harley giggled. "You bet I am." She added an overzealous wink for good measure. "I picked out a favorite flower today."

"Oh?" Pam raised a curious eyebrow.

"Mhm," Harley nodded. "It's real pretty…"

"Is it the Blue Bell Tunicate?" Pam asked, noticeable excitement in her voice. "I just got it in from—wait a minute," she squinted up at the woman on top of her. "You're going to say it's me, aren't you?"

Harley bit her lip guiltily. "Maybe…"

Pam sighed. "This is why Selina hates us, you know."

Harley scoffed. "Selina's just jealous. She told me she had a big ole' fat crush on you, ya know."

The redhead's previously critical expression soon morphed into a smile that wasn't even attempting to be sly. "I knew it." She said.

"What?" Harley laughed.

"Ha!" Pam exclaimed. "I fucking knew it."

"Umm…you know what's not a great thing to do when your wife is on top of you?" Harley asked, facetiously, climbing off to come lay beside Pam in the grass. "Celebrate your hot friend being into you."

Pam just chuckled, looking up at the clouds with that shit-eating grin still plastered on her face. "Sorry…the confession has just been a long time coming."

There was a lull in their conversation as Harley too turned her gaze upward. "Hey…" she ventured, after a moment. "Who do you think has aged better? Me or Selina?"

"Well, as I'm administering you both identical dosages of serum on the same treatment schedule, as well as supplying you with the same skin care regimen…I sincerely hope you've aged at the same rate." Pam answered, truthfully.

Harley was affronted, turning onto her side and propping her head up on her elbow to get a better angle on the redhead. "That could not have been an easier question. I literally just handed you some wife points on a silver platter, and you pissed on them."

"I did what?" Now it was Pam's turn to be offended.

"Come on, Pam!" Harley complained. "That's marriage 101! If your wife asks if she's the hottest chick in the room, you tell her she's the hottest chick in the room."

Pam sighed, turning to face her with an overly-patient expression. "You are superior to Selina in every regard, Daffodil."

"Aww, you're just saying that," Harley giggled, bashfully, playfully punching the other woman in the shoulder.

Pam rolled her eyes. "You're very lucky I love you."

"I know," Harley grinned, moving forward to kiss her. "But seriously, Pam-a-lam, what the heck are we gonna do with ourselves? We can't just garden and have sex all the time. It's repetitive." She tried to press the point casually. It had come up somewhat naturally, after all

"Well what about that book?" Pam reminded her. "You never told me if the deal with the publisher went through."

 _Oh, thank God_. "I don't have a pitch!" the blonde lied. "Turns out publishers don't pay you advances just because you're a doctor."

"You don't say," Pam mocked, before receiving another punch in the arm. She chuckled. "You need to write something academic…a unique avenue of psychology with your voice. Use it as an opportunity to educate the public."

"Mmm…" Harley furrowed her brow, pretending to think. "And on what subject do you feel the public needs to be educated on?"

Pam shrugged. "Your specialty is in abnormal psychology, right? How about you write something thoughtful on the subject? Something that does more than just label us 'psycho killers'."

"Huh…well…I'd need a specific example of a case I worked on…insight into a truly abnormal psychology," the blonde slowly walked her fingers over the grass between them, inching them up Ivy's green arms, along the patterns etched into her skin. "One that I know—intimately."

"No," Ivy said, firmly, pushing her hand away.

 _Damn it_. _Ya whiffed it, Harl_. "Oh, come on!" Harley pleaded. " _Psycho Killers and The Women That Love Them Too Much_ ," she pitched the title, humor in her voice…Pam evidently wasn't in the joking mood anymore, though.

"No, Harleen. Absolutely not." Pam sat up. "I will not have you exploit my mental illness to remedy your boredom."

"You're the one that suggested it!" Harley argued (so grateful that was at least somewhat accurate, as it gave her a leg to stand on), sitting up now too.

"I suggested you write a book, not a book on me."

"Red," Harley moved onto her knees, an excitement in her eyes as she took Pam's hands. "This could be good for us! Give us both something to do. I could play therapist again, just like old times."

"Why would you want to go back there, Harleen?" Pam questioned. "Why would you want to go backwards? We finally made it somewhere. We're happy, we're out of the woods."

"Oh, stop." Harley had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "We always happen to find ourselves new woods, Pam. It's just our nature." _Ignore the pun, Harley. Ignore the pun._ "We could get through it again. I'd help you."

"No!" Pam shouted. "I'm done asking for help! I'm done being angry, Harleen!" she got up from her place on the grass, standing over Harley now. "I want this this to stop being so complicated. I'm done with you having to walk on eggshells around me. It makes me feel absolutely disgusting, like I'm your abuser or something. I'm maybe the happiest I've ever been in my life, and even now I can barely control my temper."

"Pam…" Harley sighed, pulling herself to her feet as well. "I'm not afraid of you. I never have been. I know you're not going to hurt me."

"Well good for you," The redhead let out a humorless laugh. "Because I don't. I can't know that for sure. And yet you sit there, asking that I allow myself to be dragged back into that shit? That's what you want to do with the time we have left? Take a fucking time machine to back before I knew I could be an asshole?"

 _Yeah, she was not in the right mood for this. Miscalculated that one, Harls._ "Honey, no…" Harley reached out to take her hands again, but Pam ripped hers backwards preemptively.

"Don't 'Honey' me." Pam spat.

"OK, fine." Harley huffed. "Look—just—fine. If you don't want to participate in new sessions, that—fine. But could I at least use what I know already?"

"W—," Pam seemed to be at a momentary loss for words. "What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"Those rights can be waived, if the patient so chooses," Harley informed her, careful to keep her tone even. See…Pam was sometimes so worried she wouldn't be able to control her temper that she rarely allowed herself to get angry at all anymore, swallowing all her rage down even when it was warranted. It wasn't exactly helpful, therapeutically speaking, but it did aide Harley in situations like this. Yeah, she felt a little guilty, but she also didn't want to die, so…

Pam's eyes were screwed shut once more, her hands clenching and unclenching in a rhythm that Harley knew was meant to lull her back off the ledge. "No," she gritted.

Harley sighed, wishing very much that she hadn't signed that contract already. What had she said about big life decisions, again? Yikes, six years seemed like such a long time ago. She sort of regretted being such a bitch to Pam back then…now that she was faced with a similar backlash. "Just think about it, OK?" Harley offered, her voice soft, kind. "Your answer doesn't have to be yes," _but it would be—eventually_. "But, hey, I don't think the public getting to know the real you would be such a bad thing. Maybe they'll start to understand your—early career choice."

Pam's eyes shot open, blazing green once more, tears falling from them down her cheeks. Harley knew this wasn't a response to hurt or sadness so much as a physical response to pain. It took a lot out of her to control her mutated reactions.

And…Harley felt like shit. She was expected to, but not to this degree. _Is this why you don't marry your patients? Fuck._

Harley was honestly surprised Ivy hadn't stormed off yet. To her, that meant she didn't want to go. She needed something from Harley, some reassurance.

Finally making a decision, Harley cleared her throat. "Come here, Pam."

The meta human just shook her head angrily.

Harley sighed and decided to move towards her instead, holding her hands out ahead of her so Pam could see her coming well in advance. Pam's head shaking became subtler as the blonde approached, until Harley was gently ghosting her fingers down Pam's arms, watching her eyes to determine when it would be OK to make her next move. Eventually, the redhead seemed to calm down and Harley felt comfortable wrapping her into a tight hug. Placing a kiss in her hair, she whispered, "All I want is for you to think about it. That's all I'm asking."

Pam nodded against her, and Harley blessed her lucky stars she hadn't procured the ability to read minds during her recent mutation.

/

Pamela hated when she looked at her like that…her eyes wide, nervous…like a deer caught in the headlights, or caught by a hunter, more accurately.

Harleen was chewing on her bottom lip in the leather armchair by the fireplace. It was late, the clock having struck midnight some time ago…Harley had (impressively) maintained her silence, allowing Pam to just watch her. Take her in.

After a while, Pam tapped the tip of her pen on her notepad and stood up, looking away from Harley's alluring blue eyes and getting back to the task at hand.

This was the least she could do for her, really. For all that Harley had given her, was this really such significant kindness? Pamela's mind for Harleen's unconditional love. A fair trade, yes? Pamela liked feeling fulfilled, having a support system of people she could trust around her. Going to bed every night with the woman she loved snuggled against her…she didn't want to give that up. She—she needed it, at this point. It was as pertinent as water or sunlight; it was the fuel that allowed her to thrive in this environment.

After a week of consideration. A week full of anger and denial and what felt almost like betrayal—she'd decided this was all trivial. She was part of a family now, and to succeed, families had to function like ecosystems: each entity aiding one another to common and individual goals. This was Harleen's goal. She wanted to write a book, she wanted to help people, just as she always did.

The night before, as they'd watched their children load their dinner plates into the dishwasher, Harleen had told her that, if Pam would allow it, she would write an entire section just on Pamela's childhood. She told her she would speak directly to the parents of gifted children. Children like Pamela, ones whose passion and curiosity made them difficult to handle sometimes. The ones labeled with 'behavior problems' just because they were too intelligent for their own benefit.

Pamela liked the idea of helping to spare children like her from a childhood like the one she'd experienced. It felt good, and noble and important and relevant and so…

Pam cleared her throat, reading from the notebook in her hands. "You will give each chapter to me immediately after finishing it so I can look it over. I reserve the right to edit and censor as I see fit."

"Alright," Harley was nodding. "That's reasonable."

"And Woodrue—about Woodrue, I don't want that in the book. What he did. I don't want people to know." Although Pam was trying to come off firm, she knew her voice was shaking.

"Pam…" Harley sighed. "So much of your psychology can be traced back to that situation. It was a major moment for you. It was when Poison Ivy was born."

"You can talk about the experiments," Pam muttered. "But not about the rape. That's not yours to share."

"I—," Harley began to protest, but stopped after Pam glared at her harshly. "OK, you're right." She acquiesced. "It's not mine to share and it's not my place to pressure you."

Pam began to pace back and forth across the wool rug, her toes digging in whenever they could "I'm having a hard time trusting you," she admitted, finally. When Harley looked up at her in surprise, Pam pressed on, worried she would lose her edge for some reason. She was finding it increasingly difficult to say no to her wife these days. "I told you about him…about what he said, when we were in the hospital after Joker—,"

"Yeah, I remember." Harley helped her out.

"I'd never told anyone before. Not anyone." Pam reiterated. "I mean, I'm sure those who saw the police report understood what happened…but I—I told you, and you said I could trust you, lean on you…and then you didn't use it to help me, you used it to hurt. And then again, just a few months ago. So, you'll excuse me if this subject is a difficult one to broach with you."

The blonde rubbed her eyes, fighting the sleep that threatened to overtake her. Pam could tell she wanted to be present, but it was late… "Red," she exhaled. "Look, I know I don't exactly have the best track record on this, but I promise I don't like hurting you any more than you like hurting me. I'll stay away from it, alright? Now let's—can we go to bed?"

They were both tired. Pam would have honestly rather just gone to sleep, but Harleen initiated, so…It was careful and gentle and a bit awkward, if Pam was being honest. After almost a quarter of a decade together, it shouldn't have really been awkward anymore. That part of their lives was still healthy and frequent, but on this night it was uncomfortable. Harley was trying too hard to give…and yet she was timid, checking with Pam every step of the way, which was something she typically welcomed, but it was too measured this time around. And Harley didn't allow herself any attention, either. She felt guilty about something, Pam could tell.

Afterwards, Pam let Harley be the big spoon, the blonde's strong arms wrapping around her middle…Pam liked that. It felt safe and nice, and she thought back to their earlier conversation. How could she not trust this woman? Everyone makes mistakes, she'd apologized…this time would be different.

Pam smiled then, happy to have found someone who loved her for everything that she was. Who challenged her to be better every day. Who had her best interests in mind.

"I love you, Harleen." Pam whispered. To no one in particular, really, as she was fairly certain her wife was asleep. She just wanted the universe to know that it got something right, finally.

But Harley was awake, because she nuzzled into her neck and whispered, "I love you too."


	31. Chapter 31

_Pam's gonna kill me_ , Harley thought as she stood starring at the pre-packaged tollhouse cookie dough. "Sustainable, sustainable, sustainable…" she reminded herself. "Oh, fuck it. I'll just tell her they're from scratch."

She grabbed one of the tubes and tossed it into her cart.

Harley was nervous, although she didn't really know why. Ms. Vale was coming to her house to discuss the book, and yes, there were a lot of possible landmines, she hadn't wanted the meeting to be at her house, but unfortunately, there was no going back now.

Ms. Vale probably didn't even eat cookies, but that's what good hosts do, right? They offer people baked goods? Harley didn't even know anymore. It had been a long time since they'd had anyone over who wasn't a member of the Bat-family.

Needless to say, Harley was a little stressed out. It had taken them just over a year to get something on the page that felt "final". There was a lot of handholding required. Many a hard night…it had been a trying process for Pam, reading about herself from this perspective…but little by little, day by day, Harley had pushed her—or—nudged her in the right direction. It was important for Pamela to know that Harley was proud of her. To hear that she was brave and that she loved her and that Pam was helping. That she was integral, imperative and essential to this process. And so Harley told her that, every chance she got…even when they weren't discussing the book. It made Pam feel good, most of it was true, and it always motivated a more open dialogue. Win, win, win.

It was a little awkward getting the front door open while carrying two bags of groceries, she wasn't exactly used to doing that either, as she'd spent the last 25 years of her life either paralyzed or pretending to be. But she managed, kicking it shut behind her and heading for the kitchen.

Pam was there, sitting at the table with Jo as the girl laughed at a stack of photos they were flipping through.

"What are you ladies up to?" Harley inquired, setting the paper bags down with a thud on the counter.

Pam looked up, a smile gracing her fair features. "I brought out those photos you asked for. Jo seems to think the fashions of the time were some sort of joke."

"Oh God, Honey, just wait til you see what I was rocking in the 80s." Harley chuckled. "Mom had it easy." She leaned back against the counter. "You gonna call Selina?"

Nonplussed, Pam furrowed her brow. "Was I supposed to?"

"Well you can't be here when Vicki comes," Harley told her, crossing her arms. "I thought Selina could help you pass the time in case you don't get called in today."

Pam scoffed. "You act as if I need a babysitter."

"Fine," Harley gave a half shrug, leaning down to kiss her wife on the head. "If you want to be anti-social, I'm not going to stop you. Wherever you're going, you need to take Jo with you, though. I don't trust her not to tell Ms. Vale our life's story."

"Hey!" Jo protested. "I can keep a secret just fine, thank you very much."

"Sure ya can, Sweety." Harley pat her daughter on the shoulder with discernable condescension. "But you and Mom are gonna have some special time today. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Jo narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze to Pam now. "Where are ya gonna take me?"

"Well I wasn't aware that—,"

"To the park." Harley answered for her. "And then to get ice cream or something."

"Harleen, it's 40 degrees outside." Pam pointed out the window at the windy, overcast November day.

"Hot chocolate, then." Harley corrected. "Whatever it is, you guys have to go."

"Yeah, alright." Jo grumbled, sitting back in her chair.

"No, I mean now." Harley said, rousingly. "Get out. I love you both, but you have to leave."

Pam rolled her eyes, letting out a barely audible groan. But she did what she was told, Jo following suit. Harley understood, they didn't want to leave the respite of the warm house…but it was nonnegotiable.

Harleen escorted them both to the door, grabbing Pam's down jacket off the hook and helping her into it to speed up the process. Jo zipped hers herself.

"Wallet? Keys?" Harley questioned.

Pam turned around and picked up her purse from the table as an answer, showing it to Harley for proof.

"Awesome." Harley nodded. "Jo? You need a hat."

"No I don't!" the girl protested. "I'm not even cold."

"That's because you're inside," Pam reminded her. "Go get your hat, please."

Jolene set her jaw, pointedly glowering at both her parents before stalking up the stairs towards her room.

Pam waited until she was gone to speak. "Why is it I can't be present for this meeting?"

"Babe," Harley chuckled, cupping the other woman's face in her hands. "You know I love you, but your disguise is horrible. Like…Clark Kent level awful."

That comment succeeded in vexing Pam thoroughly enough that she moved away from the other woman's touch, scowling. "I look a lot better in—,"

"—glasses than that overgrown boy scout?" Harleen guessed with a grin. "And in tights too, right? I get it, Pam. You're better than everyone, especially Superman." With that, she took Pam's purse and fished out her glasses, handing them to her so that Pam could put them on before repossessing the bag.

The redhead did so begrudgingly, pushing them onto her nose and then adjusting her turtleneck, making sure it was doing its part to obscure her identity.

"My God…" Harley fanned herself. "How about you show me the adult section of your feminist book store?"

Pam raised an eyebrow, amused, but then Jo was galloping back down the stairs, beanie cap pulled tightly over her ears.

Harley kissed them both goodbye, shuffling them out the door and closing it quickly behind them. She glanced at her watch. Vicki was supposed to be here in 40 minutes. How long did cookies take? She supposed the package would tell her.

"Anthony!" She yelled up the stairs.

"Yeah?" He called back.

"Can I get your help down here?" Harley asked.

The boy appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later…shirtless.

"Oh, sorry, Dude," Harleen apologized. "Were you getting in the shower?"

"Nope," Anthony replied casually, starting down the stairs. "I was taking selfies."

Harley's expression quickly turned incredulous and her hands migrated to her hips. "That so?"

"That is so," he confirmed. "My teacher let me into the music room before class, and I was playing Elvis, and I don't know—evidently girls like that."

Harleen regarded him critically, "What song."

"Love Me Tender. I covered it like a ballad. His voice was able to extend over two octaves and a third, see." Anthony explained. "Mine is obviously a bit limited at the moment, but I was experimenting with the lower vocal registers, and—anyway—some girl recorded it and sent it to her sister, and so she texted me, and—,"

"The girl or the sister?" Harley wanted to know.

"The sister. She's a senior so I hadn't had a chance to meet her previously. She's pretty hot, though." Anthony assured her.

"OK, hey, whoa." Harley stopped him. "First up, you literally _just_ turned 14. I wasn't prepared for you to be an actual teenager yet. This time last year you were blushing your balls off because Miss Martian gave you a second look, now you're sending shirtless selfies to Seniors?"

Anthony started to laugh, "Blushing my—what?"

"Just—don't worry about it," Harley exhaled. "Cool your jets. I'm passing the sex talk off to Mom, so please put off further conversations with this girl until she can put together a powerpoint or something."

Anthony looked horrified all of a sudden. "Se—No! That's not—I'm not—,"

A wave of relief washed over Harley as she watched her son stammer before her, his paled skin blushing beet red. "OK, awesome." Harley took a comforted breath. "Stay a child forever, please and thank you. In the meantime, I need you to help me de-Pamify the house. My editor's coming over and we need to pretend like I'm not married to the subject of my book."

Anthony's expression morphed back into that now familiar look of something nearing disgust. "You're a terrible role model."

"Yeah, well, clearly Mom isn't much better." She indicated the boy's bare chest. "Let's go. Chop chop. Family photos…reduce the number of plants to something more appropriate…you know the drill."

He let his discontentment be known with an especially disappointed look, but complied despite his protest, heading for the living room.

Harleen smiled after him before refocusing on the task at hand. "Cookies," she said aloud, making her announcement to the universe so that she couldn't take it back. She quickly popped back into the kitchen, pulling the tube of cookie dough out of the bag first thing. She had to squint to read the package, and actually—fuck.

"Anthony, have you seen my glasses?" Harley raised her voice to ensure she could be heard from the living room.

"On the table, Ma." He called back.

"Dining room or kitchen?"

"How about you look?" He suggested.

Harley decided to let that one slide, as a panty-dropping Mama's boy was basically her ideal child and it was exactly what the lord had delivered. And by "the lord" she of course meant the meta-human she was married to. In any case, the answer was the kitchen table.

With the prescription lenses in front of her eyes, she gave reading the tollhouse package another go. 375…she preheated the oven.

 _Alright…umm…I guess I could change_? Harley looked down at her jeans and plaid shirt. _Or I could not_. Was the alternate suggestion.

Ultimately, she went with option B and began slicing the cookie dough onto a sheet.

"Is Mom home?" Anthony asked, puzzled by the smell of the baking cookies when he entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

"You know what, Anthony? I find that offensive." Harley crossed her arms haughtily.

"Why?" The boy tried to force the smile off his face. "So Mom's a better cook, who cares? There are plenty of things you can do that she can't. Like…you're a doctor, for example. And she's just a—oh, just a PhD, I guess."

"Young man, you are moving further and further away from access to these cookies with every word out of your mouth." Harleen warned in a tone that said she meant business.

Anthony chuckled when he noticed the empty packaging on the counter. "Oh, come on, Ma. You at least have to try to hide the evidence."

She sized him up for a moment, imaging there should be a western score in the background. "I'll tell you what: I'll stop pretending I can cook if you stop pretending you earned that body."

His gaze dropped down to his muscular chest for a moment before a sly smile overtook his features. "You know; girls don't really seem to care where I got it." And with a shrug, he added: "they just want to touch my abs."

"Right," Harley nodded. "Just like, at the end of the day, you're gonna eat these cookies whether they came from the store or I made them from scratch."

Anthony considered that thoughtfully for a moment. "Alright, but yours gets you in trouble with Mom."

"Oh, and yours doesn't?" Harley laughed. "Because we all know how much Mom loves playboys, and when women or girls are referred to as a collective. I might get a lecture on sustainable food sourcing, but you're gonna get phrases like "toxic masculinity" thrown at you, and that stink sticks."

Harleen watched as green began to seep up through Anthony's skin, his blue eyes wide with fear. _And that is how you freak out a male feminist_. Harley grinned, pretending to clap flour off her hands.

She would have reveled in her victory for a bit longer if the doorbell hadn't rung. "Evidence," she said, pointing to the wrapper. Anthony quickly grabbed it off the counter and buried it deep in the trash can.

With a satisfied smile, Harleen headed for the door, performing a visual sweep around the living room to make sure Anthony had done his job. Then, satisfied, she continued on, opening the front door to find Vicki Vale standing on her porch, looking very professional in her heels and blazer.

 _OK, so maybe I should have changed_.

"Ms. Vale, hello!" Harley beamed. "Welcome. So sorry I'm underdressed."

The older woman waved her off. "It's perfectly alright. We're in your home, after all, I want you to feel comfortable."

"Well comfortable I am, clearly." Harleen chuckled. "Come on in."

The woman had just stepped inside when Anthony exited the kitchen, his hands full with four of the twelve cookies the package had produced.

Vicki seemed thoroughly confused. See…Anthony looked a bit older than his age, his musculature and facial features better and further developed than most other strictly human boys in his class. Harley could understand why this might look a bit off.

 _Yep, still not wearing a shirt_. _This is going splendidly already, Harleen_. "Vicki, this is Julian, our pool boy."

Anthony's face spelled "Really?" so clearly that Harley could have sworn he'd said he word out loud.

"O—oh?" was Vicki's response. Clearly perplexed as to why they would require a pool boy in November.

"I'm sorry, I'm kidding," Harley let them both off the hook, and really wishing she hadn't attempted a joke in the first place. _Selina probably would have laughed_. "This is my son, Anthony. Anthony, meet Ms. Vale, she's my editor over at S.T.L.I. Publishing."

The boy transferred all the cookies over to his left hand so that he could use his right to shake. "Pleasure, Ma'am."

"Oh," Vicki looked relieved, "Good to meet you."

"Anthony is a classical pianist who recently discovered girls like it a lot better when you play Elvis," Harley told her.

"And we can attribute his state of undress to whoever is on the other end of that message?" Vicki guessed, referencing the cellphone lighting up in the front pocket of his sweatpants.

"I respect her a great deal," Anthony assured, quickly—almost desperately, actually. "The other end of this message, I mean. The girl on the other end. And you as well, Ma'am. I also respect you a great deal."

Harleen laughed at that. "You can go now."

"Oh, thank God," Anhony exhaled, giving Vicki one more polite nod before heading up the stairs.

"Anyway…" Harley turned back to the other woman with a smile. "As you can see, I made cookies, if you've got a sweet tooth."

"You know, I really don't, but I've got a soft spot for home-baked goods," Vicki's tone was easy and good natured and it succeeded in putting Harley at ease.

She retrieved the plate, burning herself on the cookie sheet only once (personal record) before returning to the living room and setting the cookies in between them on the coffee table, Harley sitting on the couch while Vicki chose the arm chair.

"I owe you an apology," was the first thing out of Vicki's mouth. "I met you and your wife some time ago at a gala thrown by Wayne Enterprises."

"And were you rude?" Harley laughed, chewing on a cookie. "What's the apology for?"

"When I first called you last year, I remarked that I wasn't aware you were married to a woman. But you're Paula Irving's wife, right? I once did a profile on her for the Gazette."

 _Goddamn it, Pam_. "Oh…" Harleen pursed her lips. "Paula was my first wife, yes. She passed about 8 years ago, unfortunately."

Vicki's expression was instantly sympathetic. "I'm—wow, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"It's fine," Harley said, clearing her throat like this was hard for her. "The children were still young. I remarried soon after. We all have our own ways of coping," she smiled sadly.

"And now your wife is—?"

"Retired." Harley said. "Formerly a scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs."

"Oh, and how'd you two meet?" Vicki smiled warmly, clearly trying to shift the conversation into more pleasant terrain.

"Mutual friend," Harley told her, mimicking her expression. "Lillian looks a lot like Paula, if I'm being honest. It's all been rather…easy. And she keeps me young, so I can't exactly complain."

"I thought you said she was retired," Vicki questioned.

"She is," Harley confirmed. "She wasn't bonding with the children like she wanted to, she thought dedicating some more time to them might help. Anthony was 5 when we got married, and he is biologically Paula's, so obviously there was some necessary adjustment time."

"Of course," Vicki granted, reaching for a cookie.

"But you didn't come here to talk about me," Harley rerouted the conversation as skillfully as she could.

"Right," Vicki nodded. "We absolutely loved the manuscript you sent. How you managed to make the more academic portions at all interesting is beyond me, but I'm certainly grateful. Made my job a lot easier."

"I'm glad to hear that," Harley's smile came complete with a blush in her cheeks. "So then we're…good? We're done?"

"Actually…" Vicki reached into her purse for a note pad and pen. "I had some questions for you…Just some extra stuff, all information that I'm sure could be found in the text if someone were to look, but that could maybe help us out during the book tour."

"Book tour?" Harley was intrigued.

"Obviously," Vicki chuckled. "Or press appearances at the very least. A few joint ones, preferably. With Poison Ivy, I mean. Do you think—could you give me her contact information? Or would you mind—,"

"We can figure that out," Harleen assured her. "Let's hear your questions."

Vicki decided to jump right in: "What drew you in, with Ivy. What made you want to work with her? I mean, it's been 25 years, right? I'm not a psychiatrist, but that seems like a long time to work with one patient."

"It is, yeah." Harleen acknowledged. "She just—she challenged me. The truth is, I came to Arkham hoping to get a chance to work with Joker. He was all the rage back then in abnormal psychology community. And yeah—I met him. Didn't turn out to be all that impressive or interesting, really. He was just another asshole without empathy. Another villain trying to create chaos just for the sake of it.

"And Ivy was different," Vicki recognized.

"Ivy was misunderstood. _Is_ misunderstood." Harley expressed her sincerity by sitting forward. "That's something I hope people learn from this book. If nothing else, I want people to realize that they don't know Poison Ivy."

Vicki nodded as she scribbled, easily slipping back into the role of a reporter. "So 25 years, there's still new material?"

"Well therapy is never truly finished," Harley told her. "It's always an ongoing process. Every day presents an opportunity to learn something new about ourselves. And so every day offers a chance for healing. Old wounds, new wounds…sometimes therapy isn't retrospective at all, sometimes it's preventative. These heroes are under constant stress, sometimes I'm just a person that Ivy can talk to. Everyone needs one of those."

"A friend?" Vicki questioned.

Harley chuckled. "Preferably one with a medical degree."

"Right," Vicki smiled, finishing what she was writing.

"And it's not just the public that doesn't understand her, it was her doctors too, for a while." Harleen divulged. "She was incorrectly diagnosed as Bipolar for like 15 years. And believe me when I say ignoring her PTSD, just letting it fester…it was damaging, to say the least. A lot of our early work had to do mostly with tearing down her walls, unlearning her coping mechanisms."

"PTSD…right…" Vicki nodded. "Excuse my ignorance, but isn't that what soldiers have?"

"It's—ha," This happened to be a personal pet-peeve of Harley's. "PTSD is a response to trauma. The source of that trauma is irrelevant. Yes, it's popular among soldiers, but it's also extremely popular in victims of sexual violence, or domestic abuse, or—,"

"So which is Ivy?" Vicki asked.

Harley stopped. "That's—like I said, the source of the trauma is irrelevant. It differs from patient to patient, and the torture Pamela was subjected to as a young woman certainly qualifies as a traumatic experience, I would think."

Vicki raised an eyebrow a bit at the sharpening of her tone, but simply nodded once more, offering a cordial "of course" before clearing her throat. "If you could describe your relationship to Poison Ivy in one word, what would it be?"

It took Harleen a moment to separate the two sides of the person she'd spent the last 25 years of her life dedicated to. _Poison Ivy_. "Admiration." Harley finally decided. "I admire her a great deal. She's the only Arkham patient I worked with who was willing to change. To better herself, even if that's not exactly how she saw it or why she was doing it. She sacrificed an identity she'd grown accustomed to because she was able to see bigger than herself, able to understand the world on a larger scale. Understand the need for compromise. That's rare for a person in Pamela's situation, with the psychology she developed…"

Vicki was still writing when she asked: "You don't think she was born with any of it?"

"These are all really nurture disorders," Harley took another cookie. "By all accounts, Pamela Isley was meant to be a perfect human being. Beautiful, intelligent, empathetic, wealthy…but she was born to the wrong parents in the wrong time period, and so nurture overrode her nature in many respects. And nurture can be extended to the birth of Poison Ivy as well. Ivy was born out of sickness, and so that became her nature. Perhaps if she'd been provided with the proper mental health care sooner, you wouldn't have to debate your boss on which photo cover makes the former eco-terrorist look more sympathetic."

"Mm," Vicki considered that. "So what is it you believe made Dr. Isley more susceptible to change?"

"She's a woman," Harleen answered truthfully. "And women tend to listen a little better, in my experience. They're more open to suggestion…especially from other women. They don't have to worry about that nagging 'I know better because I have a penis' narrative when speaking with a female doctor. At the time we met, Pamela had been taught to distrust men. It was a survival mechanism. She was able to drop some of her defenses around me because I made her feel more comfortable than the male doctors she'd dealt with. I can guarantee you that if I were a man we wouldn't be sitting here today." She waited a moment for Vicki to catch up before continuing, as this next part was important. "No two patients are the same. You can have two patients—identical twins even, with the exact same mental illness or disorder, and their symptoms could still present differently. Mental health is not a cookie cutter science. It's not like mathematics where there's always a right answer. It's full of gray area and dead ends, wrong turns and educated guesses…and if no two patients are the same, then no two treatments should be either, and no two doctors, for that matter. We need to learn to use our imaginations, especially in abnormal psychology. Mine is a field full of complex, atypical problems that sometimes require complex, atypical solutions. It's up to us—the doctors, the professionals—to troubleshoot, to problem solve with our patients. That's how we make progress. By taking stock, by taking the time to understand our patients, to know them as human beings, and then by attacking the problem at its core."

"And what's Poison Ivy's problem?" Vicki asked. "At her core, I mean."

"Love." Harley stated, plainly. "Wanted it, craved it…had a lot to give, but was never given any."

"That's it?" Vicki almost laughed. "That seems awfully…simplistic, don't you think?"

Harleen smiled placidly. "Oh, Ms. Vale, I don't think there's anything simplistic about love."

/

"She'll have a hot chocolate—,"

"With extra chocolate and even more extra whipped cream," Jolene insisted. "Oh, and chocolate syrup on top."

Pamela was reminded once again of just how grateful she was not to have to deal with the possible onset of diabetes in her children (or her wife). "Yes, that." The redhead confirmed. "And I'll have a green tea, but only if it's organic."

The barista calculated the absolutely ridiculous total (all of Jo's extras costing an additional $2.00), and Pamela had half a mind to take a stand, to say 'no' to the ridiculous capitalist enterprise that was the coffee industry…but the look of pure joy on Jo's face when her drink was slid in front of her made Pam reconsider (just this once).

They elected to take their drinks outside and brave the cold, despite both their physiologies favoring a warmer climate.

Jo had her scarf pulled tight around her, her rosey cheeks and bright green eyes peeking out from between the material on her neck and the beanie cap pulled tight over her ears.

"Did you know there's a gym in Ohio that wants to take me away?" Jo asked as she skipped from cobblestone to cobblestone on the path through Robinson Park, her drink splashing onto the sleeve of her coat with each leap.

"Yes, I did know that." Pam acknowledge, her tone slightly clip as she resisted the urge to snatch the drink away from the girl's hand.

"Would you let me go?" Jo wondered, taking a big gulp from her cup and seemingly severely burning her tongue.

"Well I would miss you," Pam admitted. "But if it's what you truly wanted, and you told me all the reasons why, and you promised me you'd work hard…yes, I'd let you go." She paused for a moment, thankful for the warm beverage that was keeping her hand functional as she clutched to it. "Would you like to go?"

Jo shrugged. "I just want to win a gold medal, is all."

Pam sighed, knowing that was impossible. Knowing she'd be disqualified as soon as they ran her blood. But Jolene was still speaking.

"Because Mom never won one, ya know? And that's sad, I think." Jo's tone was somber.

"Darling, if you want a gold medal, you should want it for you, not her." Pam said (against her better judgment). "You need to set your own goals. Have your own dreams."

"Oh, I do." Jo assured her. "I want a gold medal because I'm the best at what I do. Best in the country. 'Member that website? That's what it said, that I was the best in the whole country."

Pam was about to tell her that yes, she did remember that, but then she heard her name being shouted from somewhere behind her.

"Lillian!" Sounded an excited female voice.

Pam and Jo both spun around to find—Supergirl—err—Kara. She was dressed just like Jo, wrapped in a scarf, a colorful down jacket making her stand out in the gray of the November day. Beside her was a woman dressed in an expensive, expertly tailored black trench coat, her delicate hands covered by leather gloves and her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

"Lillian, hi! It's me, Kara!" the blonde called out, as if they she hadn't recognized her the first time.

Pam glanced around quickly. While it was true Kara had used the proper name for the setting, it was still a bit frowned upon to act so friendly with each other out in public. But the coast was clear, the weather having kept most of the normal park-goers indoors. Pam turned her look of discomfort into a friendly smile as the young woman approached, meeting them in the middle, the woman she was with following behind her at a slower pace. "Ms. Danvers, what a pleasant surprise. What are the chances?"

"I know, in this whole big city." Kara grinned. "I just had to see what Poison Ivy had done with the place."

Pam's lips remained upturned while her eyes flitted questioningly to the raven haired woman beside her. Pam could have sworn she'd seen her before…She looked so familiar…

"Oh!" Kara realized she was being rude. "This is my—uh—Lena. She's on business so I'm on business—not _on_ business, I mean, just also here—because she's here."

Jo began to laugh at the woman's awkward bumbling. "You're her girlfriend, ain't'cha?" She directed the question at Lena who seemed to be taken aback by the directness.

"Aren't you." Pam corrected, quickly.

"Well, I…" Lena started.

"It's OK," Jo's grin was wide and toothy. "I've got two moms; I know all about girlfriends."

It only took a moment's further inspection before Pam realized that Lena was Lena Luthor, younger sister of famed supervillain Lex Luthor, arch enemy of Superman. Well if that wasn't one of the more bizarre couples she'd seen…But then Pam reminded herself that she'd married her psychiatrist and Batman's live-in girlfriend was the city's most notorious thief. Even so, this revelation was a bit jarring. Kara had always seemed so…perfectly girl-next-door.

"Ms. Luthor," Pam finally found her voice, reaching out to shake the woman's hand. "It's truly a pleasure to meet you. Dr. Lillian Rose," she introduced herself. "I have been so incredibly impressed with the sustainable innovations you've made to Lex Corp since taking over as CEO."

"Well, it's L-Corp now," Lena smiled, her green eyes twinkling having evidently found her footing as well. "But I thank you."

"Lillian is a botanist at S.T.A.R. Labs," Kara told her, seemingly trying to explain away Pam's interest in the environment in a way that didn't raise suspicion.

Lena chuckled. "A botanist named 'Lillian Rose'? How appropriate."

"Either my parents had a wicked sense of humor or I did," Pam remarked, earning her another chuckle from the raven-haired woman.

"And who is this darling LGBT activist?" Lena asked, looking to Jo now.

"Oh, of course." Pam was just so used to Jo being assertive…now she felt a bit silly. "This is my daughter, Jolene. Jo, this is a friend of mine from National City, she interviewed me for an article some time ago."

Jo could tell something was up, that was obvious in the conspiratorial nature of her nod. "Alright…" she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I like your hat."

"Thank you," Kara grinned. "And you are very pretty, just like your Mom. Or…" she furrowed her brow. "Just like your Mom…"

"She's biologically Harleen's," Pam informed, her heartrate rising ever so slightly.

"The Missus, I assume?" Lena raised a dark eyebrow. "Could have fooled me…unless your wife has your same eyes."

"No," Pam smiled. "Just a carefully chosen sperm donor."

"I'm sorry…" Lena seemed to suddenly realize this conversation might be inappropriate. "This probably isn't—,"

"No, I love science." Jo grinned. "And I know I'm the prettiest science experiment around."

"Oh, definitely." Kara nodded in ardent agreement.

Jo giggled at the blonde. "You're like me but a grownup."


	32. Chapter 32

Harleen watched the minutes on the treadmill slowly tick down. Although, were they ticking down? How the fuck did she still have 20 minutes left?

Her pace was a brisk jog, which wouldn't have been a problem if she hadn't just worked legs for an hour and a half…

"I'm getting to old for this shit," she panted to no one in particular. Selina was doing some yoga bullshit in the corner, and anyway, Harley tended to mumble to herself, so Selina had learned to employ selective hearing in her presence.

Harley tripped when her phone rang, but was able to keep herself upright after a few feet of stumbling. "Yeah?" She answered, hoping her labored breathing wasn't too obvious.

"Would you accept a collect call from Arkham Aslum?" An automated voice asked.

"Yes," Harley accepted, without thinking twice. Although, she realized maybe she should of. This was her private number, and the only person at the asylum who should know it was Joan, and she'd call from her personal line…

"Hello, Dr. Quinzel," Jonathan Crane's voice came over the line.

"Dr. Crane!" Harley was surprised for a number of reasons, namely that he was pushing 70 and still calling from Arkham.

"I'm sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?" He asked.

Harley had to chuckle at that. Always nice when mad scientists care. "No, I'm just—physical therapy."

"Oh yes, that's right." He sounded pleased. "I heard you were back on your feet."

Harleen probably would've smiled if she weren't so exhausted. "And you're back in Arkham…"

"Some things can't be avoided." Harley assumed he was shrugging. "But I do miss our stimulating discourse…" he paused so Harley could agree, she assumed. "In any case, I won't take more of your time than is necessary. I just wanted to tell you I read your book."

"O—oh?" Harley quickly slowed the treadmill down. "How did you—?"

"It's 300 pages of preposterous detritus." He interrupted her question, his tone matter-of-fact. "That anyone would write a book on Poison Ivy's psychology and leave out her history of sexual abuse is absolutely ludicrous. Even I wouldn't, and lord knows I couldn't give a rat's ass about that woman—her depiction or her past traumas. But what you've done is simply disrespectful to the study of human psychology."

"I'm—," Harleen was at a loss for words. "Excuse me?" She stopped the machine all together.

"With all due respect," Crane began. "This reads like a money grab by a pop psychologist. You skirt around everything, broad-stroking the most basic information. And the sexual abuse omission is ridiculous. It's far and away the most interesting thing about her. Clearly your editor doesn't have a background in this field."

"Dr. Crane, how did you even get this number?" She tried to mask the hurt in her voice. "And how did you get a copy of the book?"

"It was a special request. And a waste of one," he humphed.

"Well I'm…very sorry you feel that way." Harley's tone was controlled.

"As am I." and with that, he hung up, leaving Harley a bit stunned.

"Who the hell pissed in his cornflakes?" She asked, exasperated.

"If that was Bruce, tell him Damian had it coming." Selina piped up from her standing bow pose.

"No, it wasn't Bruce." Harley muttered distractedly, hopping off the treadmill and heading towards the showers.

"Hey, you weren't done!" Selina pointed out. "And where are you going? You're old, you have to stretch."

"I'll…do it when I get home," Harley lied, and rather obviously.

All Crane's phone call had done was confirm what Harley already knew: that detail of Poison Ivy's life was important. It was vital to her story, and Pam had squandered it. It was just…the whole thing read disingenuous, and that was frustrating for Harley as it was her name on the cover.

Selina narrowed her eyes. "Who was on the phone?"

 _Fuck…is this about to be a thing?_ "Just…" Harley sighed. "A former colleague. They were…less than impressed with my book."

"Oh, good." Selina almost smiled. "Shouldn't have written a book on your wife's psychology anyway. Although it's almost impressive you found a way to somehow be less ethical than before."

 _It's a thing_. Harleen scoffed. "Are you serious, _Catwoman_?" she emphasized the alias. "Are you really about to lecture me on morals—AGAIN?"

The brunette didn't back down. "More on the conflict of interest."

"Ha!" Harley snorted. "You realize how insane that is, right? Coming from you?"

"Whatever," Selina waved her off, moving into downward dog and then fluidly transitioning into a cobra pose. "I'm not reading it."

 _Ugh, why did Selina have to look for a fight right now?_ "I didn't ask you to," Harley mumbled. "But you know what? I'm pretty done with that narrative of yours. How dare I make your friend a better person. How dare I repurpose her powers for a good cause. How dare I force her to actually fucking contribute to society. God, how unethical."

 _OK…_ Harley had to level with herself. _So maybe not all of this is actually directed at Selina_.

"Harl..." Selina was clearly unimpressed. "You need to chill out. And by the way, if that was all you'd done, we wouldn't be having this conversation and you know it."

 _She's right, Harleen_. "God…don't, alright? It's clear you've been building ammunition for this for a while, but I'm late to pick up my genetically modified plant children…you know, the ones I had so my wife could feel included in our family. Yeah, Selina, I'm the goddamn devil incarnate."

"Oh, yes. How noble." The brunette laughed. "Giving your children Pamela Isley's DNA, way to take that bullet. What a horrible curse they've had thrust upon them. The horror! They could cut themselves on their cheekbones!"

Harley chose not to respond, grabbing her gym bag instead and heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, bright and early, right?" Selina turned, hands on her hips, to watch her go.

Harleen was confused for a moment…before she remembered she was being interviewed on a morning show the next day…about her book. _Fuck_. "You'll be watching?"

"Oh, yes." Selina smiled. "Recording it too. So if you fuck up, it will be forever memorialized on Batman's DVR. Just remember that."

 _That's the least of my problems._ Harley left without saying goodbye. _It's way too late to fix the goddamn book._

/

"Pam—I—I need you to talk to Anthony about sex."

The redhead uncovered herself, wearing her best "WTF" expression as she detached her mouth, wiping it with the back of her hand. "What?"

"He's a teenager now," Harley's chest was beaded with sweat, rising and falling with each labored breath she took. It had taken Pam a while to get Harley to this point. A _long_ while. "He's interested, and I want to make sure he's got all the right information. Especially since he's so…unique."

"No, yeah, I get that," Pam unwrapped her arms from around the other woman's thighs. "But my tongue was…that's what you were thinking about when…are you serious?"

"Hmm?" Harley's eyes looked out of focus. "Oh, no, you're fantastic, Babe." She distractedly assured her. "Top notch, really."

"D—," Pam began, bewildered, almost at a loss for words. "Do you know who I am?"

"Sure!" Harley adjusted her nightshirt. "Oral technician extraordinaire."

"But you—you didn't finish." Pam realized, mystified as to what was going on. "I didn't—I was getting somewhere, why would you—."

"Oh, you got there, Hon." Harley guaranteed her, offering a double thumbs up. "Seriously, thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Appre—what?" Pam sat back onto her heels. "I wasn't—this wasn't me doing you a favor. You appreciate it when I do the dishes or make the bed, not when I—are you OK? Is something wrong?"

"Ugh, I'm sorry." Harley let the smile she'd painted on fall away. "Just stressed. The first batch of preliminary reviews came in today for the book. I sent it to one of my old psychology professors at Gotham State, and wouldn't you know it, his first question was why you fixated so heavily on weaponizing your sexuality...and I've got that morning show appearance tomorrow…" She sighed. "Anyway, that's not your problem…it just means I have to figure out some way to explain it without mentioning the—you know."

"Right, of course, 'you know'." Pam said scornfully, getting off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

"Hey—oh, no, don't go!" Harley lamented.

Pam scanned the sink quickly before opening the cupboard, coming up empty in both locations. "Harleen, where did you put the mouthwash?"

"Oops," Harley apologized. "Used the last of it this morning. Sorry."

Pam slammed the cupboard shut. "Goddamn it."

"Yeesh, well _excuse_ me for tasting so awful." The blonde huffed

"Typically you don't," Pam acknowledged, closing the bathroom door behind her as she reentered the bedroom. "But this is the taste of failure and disappointment. Simply a reminder of my inability to—,"

"Jesus," Harley rolled her eyes. "You wanna get me there? Fine." She unceremoniously spread her legs. "Have at it."

"Mmm…how romantic." Pam sneered, switching the lamp on her bedside table off, casting the room into darkness before climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over her shoulders, facing away from her wife.

Harley sighed audibly, allowing a pregnant pause before turning to wrap her arm around Pam's waist. "I'm sorry…" she murmured. "It's really not you, I promise. I just have a lot on my plate right now. Not enough brain space to focus. Thanks for trying, though?" she offered.

"Anytime," Pam mumbled.

Harley gave her one last squeeze. "I'm gonna take a shower." She kissed her on the cheek and slid out of the covers, closing the bathroom door behind her.

Pam pulled her knees to her chest when she heard the water turn on. _Woodrue…ruined my life, now he's ruining my sex life. You can't satisfy your wife because you're a coward, Pamela. A coward who is still letting that asshole dictate your life._

She heard the shower door creak slightly, and the sound of the water change, landing on Harley now rather than pounding on the tiles.

 _Imagine having to misrepresent scientific findings, Pamela. Having to lie through your teeth in a published work of academia. You wouldn't. You never would, and you wouldn't if she asked you to, either._

Pam tightened the grip on her knees, slamming her eyes shut.

/

 _Christ, that was painful_.

 _Look, I'm not an asshole, OK? I'm not…unethical._ Why Harley felt the need to convince herself at this point she wasn't sure. She was Pamela's wife, yes, but she was also Poison Ivy's doctor. There were decisions that had to be made, and sometimes that required the blurring of lines. Harleen had to employ every weapon at her disposal. Or…maybe not "weapon", that might be a bit harsh. Method? Sure, method.

But Harley was so sensitive at this point watching the cartoon _Robin Hood_ could have done it for her ( _there was just something about that pants-less fox…_ ).

She'd been edging for like an hour straight, and God, it was horrible. She'd had to close her eyes for most of it, as the sight of Poison Ivy between her legs was usually enough to get her at least halfway there. And she just fucking knew Pam was giving it her all. Her wife was nothing if not talented in that department.

The only way she'd made it without giving Pam the satisfaction was imagining their kids walking in on them…or imagining Pam explaining sex to Anthony. There was nothing less relaxing than that image, and it managed to do the trick.

Harley felt bad, of course. She appreciated that her wife still put effort into these moments. Pamela Isley was _not_ one to phone it in. Like…ever. It was inspiring, actually, how much pride she took in her abilities. But that was just it. See…Pam was a giver. She liked to show off. She gleaned satisfaction from the knowledge that she could satisfy Harley. She craved it, that feeling of power she got hearing Harley's sated sighs as they basked in the afterglow.

Pamela wouldn't get that tonight, and Harley had told her why as plainly as she could while attempting to avoid heavy handedness. There was a direct cause and effect now between Pam disappointing Harley sexually and letting her fear discredit her psychology. Harleen had abandoned their bed to give Pam space to think on that. To reflect on her choices surrounding a certain omittance of information.

Harleen wasn't trying to be vindictive…This wasn't for her, after all. It was for Pam. It would be good for her to get that all out in the open. Harleen knew it would be, and she was a mental health professional, after all. Pam might not think it, and Selina might not agree, but Harley knew what was best for her. This secret had dictated Pamela's reality for far too long, and she would never be able to fully heal until she stopped holding her cards so unbearably close to her chest. It was too late to get it in the book…but maybe at a press conference, if Poison Ivy herself told the world in her own words what he'd done to her, then maybe—finally—she'd get the sympathy she deserved.

Harley closed her eyes as the warm water cascaded over her. _Poison Ivy was wearing that cocky smirk…slowly, she got up from the reclining chair, sashaying towards her in her Arkham uniform. Grabbing a hold of Harleen's tie and tugging her forward, their lips met. Strong vines slithered around Harleen's wrists, pulling them back behind the chair, leaving her helpless and exposed. Long, green fingers traced teasingly downwards, threading through the buttons of her blouse before it was ripped roughly open…_

And…yeah, it didn't take much.

Harley braced herself against the wall of the shower, her nostrils flaring as she gulped down chestfulls of air.

She washed quickly, not bothering to shampoo her hair as it was already clean. There had been a purpose to this shower and she'd achieved it, so…the rest was just for show. _I'm not an asshole, though_. She repeated over and over again as she climbed back into bed, smiling as and snaking an arm around Pam's waist, pulling her flush against her.

"I'll do that interview with you tomorrow," Pam mumbled.

 _Yessss_ … "Oh, Babe…you don't have to." Harley's voice was muffled slightly by Pam's hair.

"I don't want anything to be misrepresented," Pam told her, gruffly. "And I'm proud of you, so I want to be there."

Harley grinned, nuzzling her face under the layers of curls in order to place a few gentle kisses on her wife's neck. "Well if you insist…"


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's note: RIP Carrie Fisher. You were my kind of princess. May the force be with you, always. And Debbie Reynolds, your talent knew no bounds. Thank you for sharing your voice with us, and thank you for sharing your daughter.**

"Ugh—I'm sweating." Harleen nervously fanned herself. "Am I shiny? I'm shiny. And I hate this stupid shirt."

"Well…" Pamela cleared her throat, her voice even as she crossed one leg over the other. "Perhaps you should have listened to me when I suggested you wear the blue."

Harley furrowed her brow in confusion. "When did you suggest that?"

Pamela was watching the door to the soundstage, waiting for the hosts. She was anxious, even if she felt silly admitting it to herself. "You asked if you should wear the blue or the red. I said the blue, you chose the red." She coolly reminded her. "And seeing as how that was no more than an hour ago, I'm legitimately concerned your memory is beginning to fail you. Is there a history of Alzheimer's or dementia in your family?"

Harleen narrowed her eyes, regarding the other woman critically. After a moment she decided: "I think I might hate you."

"Mmm…I've got a wedding ring and two kids at home that would beg to differ," Pam said as the hosts entered the room, all fake smiles and impeccable hair.

"Dr. Quinzel! Hello!" The woman said. "I'm Summer Gleeson, this is Snapper Carr…but I'm sure you already know that."

Harleen was clearly a bit startled at all the energy that had blasted through the door at 6am, but she'd never had trouble painting on feigned enthusiasm, so that's exactly what she did when she grinned and said. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. This is Poison Ivy—,"

"But I'm sure you already know that." Ivy assured her, pointedly not reaching out to shake their hands.

"Ooh, passive aggression! That's fun." Snapper smiled, plopping down in the chair across from Ivy in the crescent arrangement.

"Allow me to apologize for her," Harley offered. "She's not much of a morning person."

"Well, hey, I wasn't either." Summer chuckled. "But then I turned 50, and off to the morning show I went. It's sort of like journalist purgatory!" She delivered her entire line with an eerily wide smile on her face, and Pam glanced at the cameras momentarily to make sure they hadn't started rolling already.

They hadn't.

"So…is it alright if we call you Pamela? Pam?" Snapper asked, watching her expectantly as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Absolutely not." Was Ivy's quick reply.

"Alright," Snapper clapped. "Ivy it is, then."

"How about 'Dr. Isley', actually." Pamela suggested. "My degree is every bit as legitimate as Dr. Quinzel's, after all."

"Fantastic…" Summer was nodding at the cue cards, so Ivy wasn't quite sure what she was approving, but she sat back in her seat anyway, resigning herself to whatever would come next.

"You're not gonna kill us, are you?" Snapper asked. "I mean; you're taking the necessary medication?"

The vine in Ivy's wrist pulsed as the stage manager began to count down.

"And we're live in three…two…" he pointed to Summer, who was somehow able to broaden her smile.

"Good morning, Gotham!" She greeted excitedly. "And man-oh-man, what a lovely day it's shaping up to be."

"Almost makes this job bearable, huh, Summer?" Snapper asked.

" _Almost_." She smiled. "Well we hope everyone has at least one cup of coffee down the hatch. It's been two already for me." She laughed at her own joke.

"Oh, three for me." Snapper chuckled. "But I put some bourbon in that last one."

Harleen was unable to hide the surprise on her face at that comment, but Snapper quickly waved it off. "I'm just jiving; the drinking starts after the camera cuts." He winked right into the lens.

"But wide awake or sleepy, hungover or still drunk, you are not going to want to miss our chat with this morning's guests: renowned psychiatrist and author of the new book _Pretty Poison_ ," Summer held up a copy of the book. "And the subject herself, right here, in the flesh: former eco-terrorist and current member of the Justice League— Poison Ivy. And can I just say," Summer turned to the redhead. "You are absolutely stunning, even more so in person." She delivered her next line to the camera. "I swear, people, even with the vines and whatnot, it is like staring into the sun."

"If that was to placate my narcissism, I thank you, but it was unnecessary." Ivy intoned.

"Doesn't make it not true," Snapper toasted with his coffee mug.

"Well, in any case," Summer re-routed the conversation. "This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel. She has been Ivy's therapist for the last—what is it, 25 years? 26?"

"They all start to blur together after a while," Harley answered charmingly. "But we met on my first day at my first job after medical school, and the rest is history."

"It almost sounds like a love story," Summer remarked.

"Ah, but we don't have any secrets," Harleen pointed out. "And aren't those what make relationships interesting?"

"You are married, though, right?" Snapper asked.

Pamela had to force herself not to roll her eyes. "Is that a question you would ask one of your male guests?"

"Well, this book isn't just about you," Snapper pointed out. "It's a personal story for you too, right?" That question he directed at Harley. "There's a passage in here where you say it was your conversations with Dr. Isley here that helped you realize you were attracted to women."

Harleen's laugh came out a bit nervous. "I honestly didn't think you'd read it, but I'm impressed. Yes, I am married, and yes, the open and honest conversations I had with Dr. Isley as a young woman were certainly illuminating. Everyone needs female friends, Snapper. Even bisexual women."

"Friends. Is that how you think of each other?" Summer prompted. "Isn't that a bit of a conflict of interest?"

"Oh, I don't think so." Harleen assured. "Dr. Isley and I understand our relationship, we're aware of its boundaries. But I don't believe it's possible to work with someone for as long as we have and not develop some degree of bond slightly outside the typical purview of the doctor-patient relationship. By which I mean, I don't invite her to dinner with my children, but it's also not uncommon for me to enter one of our sessions without my notepad."

"Right…" Snapper nodded. "You say in the book that it was important to approach your sessions with Ivy like conversations. So is that the secret to reforming serial killers? Buy 'em lunch? Tell them you understand?"

"All the people I killed deserved to die, of that I can assure you." Ivy gritted.

"Is that so?" Snapper chuckled. "You heard it here first, folks. Poison Ivy is a capital judge!"

 _He's beneath you. He's not worth it_. Ivy reminded herself.

"So, is this a true crime book?" Summer asked Harleen. "Self-help, biography…what's the genre? I couldn't tell."

"Well…I think it's all those things in one," Harleen admitted. "Poison Ivy is a figure that a lot of people know, but few understand. The goal here was to write something accessible that could lead to a better understanding of what most would call the abnormal psychology she presents."

Snapper was already chuckling by the time Harley concluded her sentence. "In other words, normalizing a serial killer because she's the kind of psycho teenaged boys could busy themselves with. Or is this book for the feminists who seem to have no problem celebrating a misandrist. It's OK for women to hate men, just not the other way around, right?"

"I'm here as a curtesy, Snapper." Ivy calmly told him, her grip tight on the armrest of her chair _. Beneath you, beneath you, beneath you._ "And in the eyes of the law I have absolved myself of what you would call my "crimes". So while I respect my psychiatrist and understand the importance of my support for this project, if the snide or outwardly rude comments continue I will have to remove myself from the studio, as enduring your abuse is not why I am here today."

"Then why are you here?" Snapper asked. "For some softball questions? So you come off tolerable enough to sell a few of these books?"

"No, I'm—," _Why am I here?_ Pam's eyes flitted quickly to Harleen, who seemed to be watching the exchange with interest, but showed no indication that she would jump in anytime soon. _She wants you to stick up for yourself_. "I'm here as a scientist and an environmental activist, a feminist—but most of all I'm here as—," she cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm here as a woman who has endured probably more than her fair share of hardships, and who didn't handle any of them especially well. I—," _you don't have to do this, you don't have to do this. They're call you weak. You'll lose your power, your influence. It's not worth it._ "I was a sheltered young woman who put my trust in a man that I considered an inspiration—my college professor." Again, her gaze traveled quickly to Harleen, who was watching her expectantly, her bottom lip held nervously between her teeth _. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for her_.

"He held me in a basement at the university," Ivy admitted. "He—he raped me, brutally and often, and he experimented on me. He robbed me of my life, my career and my humanity, and I hated him for it. I hated all men for it. But while my assault resulted in me gaining supernatural abilities, I'm very aware that other victims of the phenomena are left with a feeling of overwhelming helplessness. Powerlessness. So yes, I murdered people. I murdered men who raped women and men and women who raped the environment. That's how I took my power back."

Summer looked like she was ready to interrupt, but Pamela continued, as she wanted to get it all out before she lost her edge and realized the damage she was causing to the persona she'd cultivated.

"I was absolved, I am "reformed"," Ivy provided the air quotes herself. "And I try my hardest to be a role model, for girl's especially. I encourage them to go into STEM fields of study, and to learn about how they can aid me in keeping Earth inhabitable for humans. I encourage them to demand attention, demand to be heard, to be taken seriously. And now I'm going to encourage victims of sexual assault not to suffer in silence, and never to back down in the face of misogynist, victim-blaming rhetoric. Don't give your attacker more power than they're worth. In fact—don't give them any at all."

Ivy stood up from her chair, starting the process of removing the microphone they'd attached to her suit. "So though I may be reformed, I will not now, nor will I ever apologize for the actions I took against men and men like him. I'm not sorry my attacker was decapitated, but I am sorry that I didn't get to do it myself, and I'm sure a significant majority of those one in five women who will be assaulted in their lifetime share that sentiment. And actually, to those women—or, "people" I should say, I am aware there are some men who shoulder this burden as well—the justice system is rotten in regards to this issue. Unapologetically, inarguably broken. And so to those who did speak out and were still cast aside like it was their fault, like they should have known better or were asking for it, like they were less than human…let me just tell you that in 1966, I stayed too late in my lab one night. He wouldn't let me leave. He pressured me when I said no. When I resisted him verbally and physically, he implied that I owed him because he gave me a promotion, so I forfeited. But that night was no different than the nights that proceeded it, when he had me strapped to a table with a dirty rag in my mouth. It was rape, it was always rape, and it wasn't my fault." With that, she set the microphone down on the chair she'd abandoned and stepped off of the sound stage. "And this isn't me being immature," she called back. "It's me removing myself from a possibly harmful situation because, unfortunately, I do still have a temper."

/

"Wh—no!" Selina shot up from the couch. "Bruce, are you listening to this shit?!" She twisted around to observe him collectedly setting his newspaper aside.

"Good for her," he offered.

"Good for—," Selina paused the TV. "Are you fucking serious right now? Good for her? There's no way she wanted to share that shit! It's private, she's the most private person I know. On live TV?"

Bruce rose from the table, taking his coffee mug with him for a refill. "It's clearly been hanging over her for a long time. Seems like she's finally working through it. When left to fester, secrets can be a death sentence."

"What sort of poetic bullshit is that?" Selina followed him into the kitchen. "And you're literally the most secretive motherfucker on the planet."

"Yes…" he acknowledged, pouring himself another cup. "And every secret I keep eats away at me daily. You act like I'm some prime example of mental health."

"Oh, don't give me that." Selina scoffed. "You're a drama king, is what you are. No disrespect, but we're all orphans, Bruce. I am, Clark is, Barry is…throw a rock at the Justice League and you'll hit the ghosts of at least 15 dead parents."

Bruce was able to somehow make his sigh sound both aggressive and exhausted. "Is there a point to this?"

"Umm…yeah, Ivy just forfeited like 80% of her persona on live television."

Bruce pursed his lips, leaning back against the counter. "Firstly: I'd say she shut down Snapper's rhetoric pretty effectively, all while plugging her causes. Secondly: Can she still control any and all plant-life on a whim? Can she still filter contaminated air using her anatomy?"

Selina crossed her arms. "I don't see why not."

"Well," Bruce took a sip of his coffee. "That's really all that matters to us. Yes, Pamela's powers of seduction were effective, but 9 times out of 10 her employment of them would lead to a murder. Seems like every day Dr. Quinzel is in her life, she moves further from Poison Ivy and closer to Pamela Isley, and the latter is a lot easier to handle."

"Bruce!" Selina ripped the mug out of his hand and slammed it down on the counter, thoroughly startling him. "Pam is married to Dr. Quinzel! That's her fucking wife! It's not healthy, the relationship _cannot_ be healthy! There is an inherent imbalance of power there, don't you see?"

Bruce shrugged. "You were my thief, I was your jailer, how is that any different? Pamela is a grown woman. You really think _Poison Ivy_ is going to resign herself to some sort of beta role?"

"No," Selina really wasn't sure why this was riling her up so extensively, it wasn't any of her business, really, but this conversation had been a long time coming. "Pamela is an emotionally stunted genius who understands little about human interaction in the first place. She's a teenager in love for the first time, and she's too busy making fucking heart eyes at her wife to see that Harleen lacks any integrity whatsoever. You know what she told me a few years back? She said that Harley repeated what Woodrue had said while he was raping her, and she did it while they were having sex."

Bruce was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable. "Harleen's methods may be unorthodox, but you can't argue with the results."

Selina took a step forward. "She told me Harleen had apologized profusely. Said she'd never do it again. Said she was drunk and that she didn't mean it…Pamela said she knew it would be different this time. And if that's not the most cliché line an abused woman could use—,"

"Selina, stop it." Bruce snapped. "Harleen is my colleague, my protégé, and my partner and I cannot think of a happier marriage than she and Pam's, honestly. I'm sorry that your friend was raped 60 years ago, but why you feel the need to villainize Harleen because she finally got Pam to start discussing that trauma is beyond me. She's just doing her job."

"I'm—I'm not villainizing Harleen!" Selina was aghast. "She's doing that to herself! You can't write a book on your wife's psychology then parade her around in costume like she condones this shit. I know she doesn't. I'm not stupid, I know my friend."

"Oh, your friend who you sold out to Joker?" Bruce challenged. "That got Harleen paralyzed, Selina. We can blame Ivy for losing her tempter all day, but really, they wouldn't have even been in that situation if you'd—"

"What?" Selina raised an eyebrow. "Bit the bullet? Fucking died? Been dissolved in the vat of acid he had me hanging over?"

"You didn't have to tell him the real address, and he pushed you into the acid anyway. Result would have been the same." Bruce concluded. "But you were angry. Admit it, you were angry at Ivy for getting you into that situation in the first place."

"That was 25 years ago!" Selina shouted. "And in case you haven't noticed, Harley can walk just fine now."

"You're right it has been a while, and Harleen has stuck by Ivy for every single one of those years since She has dedicated her life and her career to that woman, and we're all better for it." Bruce grabbed the mug off the counter and tossed it roughly into the sink.

"Jesus," Selina's face scrunched up in disgust. "What do you have a hard-on for their relationship or something? I'm sorry I don't get off on some twisted nuclear family fantasy like Pam does."

"Why is it twisted?" Bruce asked. "Married, two kids, a house, a fucking garden—does that really sound so horrible? I don't see the problem with striving for normalcy."

"Ha!" Selina exclaimed. "Normal is a setting on a washing machine. We're not normal, you've never wanted to be, you've never even really tried to be. And Pam and Harley? They're not normal either. That—," she pointed to the frozen image on the television of Ivy stalking out of frame. "Is not normal."

"Fine," Bruce exited the kitchen, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair he'd risen from earlier. "Give Harleen an earful. See if that helps. Just make sure Pam isn't around when you do because given the choice between the two of you, she'd be renewing her wedding vows and you wouldn't be invited quicker than you could say she deserved better."

Selina rolled her eyes. "I would give you a kiss and tell you to have a nice day, but I wouldn't want you to cream your jeans at the domesticity of it all."

"Slacks," Bruce mumbled, heading for the door. "I'm not wearing jeans."

"I'll have supper on the table by 5!" Selina called after him. "A pot roast, yum!"


	34. Chapter 34

Harleen connected her phone to the Bluetooth as she pulled out of the studio parking lot. She drummed her thumb on the steering wheel as it rang and rang, until…

 _"_ _You've reached Dr. Lillian Rose. Unfortunately, I am indisposed at the moment—,"_

 _"_ _Ha!"_ Harley heard her voice in the background of the recording. _"That rhymes!"_

 _"_ _Harleen, honestly…"_

She remembered how Pam had pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

 _"_ _I'll return your call at my earliest convenience."_

And then came the beep.

"Hey, Bay-bee!" Harley greeted. "I'm sure you went up to The Watchtower. I totally get why you left, but oh my God, I'm so flippin' proud of you! Like, I was this close to standing up and being all "that's my wife!" but…you know…cooler heads. Anywho…" she stopped at a light. "You want to take the kids out to eat tonight? Or maybe I could try to cook—ooh! I could eat a vegetable! And I don't mean that as an innuendo—although, I'm totally game—I mean like I'd eat some broccoli if you wanted me to, you know, as a show of good faith. I don't know," Harleen laughed at herself. "I'm just—I'm so proud of you and now I'm gonna cry because you're so brave, and ugh, just delete this message, alright? I sound insane. Not that there's anything wrong with that—or, not that I'm not, but—whatever, I love you, that's what I'm trying to say, so…yeah. Umm…we'll talk tonight, or…? Yeah, OK, love you, bye." She hung up quickly after that, giddily tapping her fingers on the wheel the whole way home.

It was odd, but it felt like…in that moment after you stick the final skill of your floor routine. That moment right after the crowd erupts into applause, and your heart just soars. It felt like a victory, and Harleen didn't quite know why.

She supposed she was happy for Pam. Yeah, that's right, good for her! That's who all of this was for anyway. Pam. It was a big moment for her, she finally owned all that she was, all the hardships she'd faced…there were no more secrets to Poison Ivy, and that was—healthy. It was Pamela's victory Harleen was celebrating, she just got to share it because she was her therapist and her wife and—yeah, this was about Pam. Harleen had helped her, yet again. This would be good for them, and it would be good for her.

Harleen pulled her car into the garage, shutting the door behind her and heading into the main house.

" _It's peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly_ ," She sang as she entered the kitchen, setting her purse down on the counter when she realized she'd missed breakfast. " _It's peanut butter jelly, peanut butter jelly, peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat. It's_ —," she stopped short, startled, when she realized she wasn't alone.

Pam was slumped against the wall in the hallway, her knees pulled to her chest and her face wet with tears, still wearing her retired Justice League uniform (since her mutation, she'd reverted back to a variation on her old leotard).

"Pam!" Harley couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "I thought you were—shouldn't you be up at The Watchtower?"

The redhead sniffed and wiped fruitlessly at her eyes with her gloved hand. "I couldn't go."

"Well—Babe," Harley made her way over, coming to kneel down in front of her. "Isn't it sort of a requirement?"

"I couldn't go!" Pamela shouted, suddenly angry. "I know the way they'll look at me, Harleen. The men. With pity, like I'm broken. I couldn't—I couldn't stomach it." New tears fell down her cheeks.

Harleen sighed, _Goddamn it_. She sunk until she was sitting on the hardwood floor and reached her hands out to cup her wife's face. "Pamela…Honey…" she wiped the tears away with her thumbs. "After all these years, you deserve some pity. Or, actually, how about we call it sympathy? Empathy, even. One in five, that means there are a lot of women out there who know exactly how you feel. OK, well maybe not exactly," the blonde chuckled. "Exactly how you feel—sans superpowers."

Pam didn't respond or laugh, she just stared resolutely ahead…although she didn't remove Harley's hands either.

 _This is getting so redundant_. Harleen had to take a moment to reassess, as she wasn't exactly prepared for this right now. She thought she'd have all day to come up with some strategies for how to deal with the fallout of Ivy's confession. _How many different ways can I tell her this bullshit doesn't have to define her? How many ways can I call her brave and strong and beautiful? I'm out of fucking synonyms._

"You _are_ broken, Pam." _It's worth a shot, right_? "Look at you. You're a 90-year-old woman, crying on the floor and hiding from your friends because you were attacked 60 years ago and you're afraid now that they know, your buddies won't think you're some all-powerful, celestial asshole anymore. Knock it off!" _Alright, hey, that's a bit much. Try again._ "Follow your own example, Pamela. Enough is enough! Take your fucking power back!"

Harleen would have continued had Pamela not surged forward then. Had she not captured her in a desperate kiss, her lips hungry and her tears pressing against Harley's face, leaving her skin moist as well. It wasn't the reaction Harley was expecting as a result of her admonishing pep talk, but the fact that it was the one Pam provided made Harley very sad for some reason.

"Pamela," Harley tried to break away. "Pam—Ivy," but she was being pressed onto her back now, the redhead crawling over her, kissing like she was a teenager rather than a senior citizen—all tongue and teeth and soft whimpers. She cried all the while, even as she left Harley's lips and began a sloppy trail of kisses across her jaw and down her neck

"Pamela, stop." Harleen tried again, wrapping her left arm around her wife's back and placing the other hand on the back of the woman's head, steadily applying pressure until Pam stopped moving, resigning herself to resting all her weight atop Harley, her sobs now muffled into Harley's chest. "Shhh…" Harley soothed, gently carding her fingers through her hair. "It'll be OK, Pammy."

The redhead tensed then, Harley could feel her trying to pull away, but she just gripped her tighter.

"No…" Harley cooed. "That's mine now. That's ours. He can't have it anymore. He can't have anything anymore." She placed a gentle kiss in the woman's hair. "I love you, Pammy. You are loved. It wasn't your fault. You were never his. You are mine and you are yours. That's it."

As Harleen lay there on the hardwood floor, all 130lbs of her wife's lean form collapsed on top of her, shaking with her sobs that eventually turned to sniffles and then just tremors from the exertion of it all, she was finally able to answer her question from the car. She hadn't done this for Pam. Not the book, not the interview…none of it had been for Pam's benefit, really. Harleen was still playing the game they'd started 26 years ago, only Pam was done, having run out of steam that day on the grass in front of the hospital when Harley told her she needed her…when she said she loved her for the first time. This wasn't a game to Pam. This was the first relationship she'd ever had. This meant everything to her.

…and of course Harleen knew that. She'd known it for some time. She'd known it even back then. It's why she'd said those things in the first place, it's how she knew they'd work.

The blonde stared up at the ceiling, imagining elaborate images in the textured paint as her wife was overtaken by exhaustion, eventually falling into the kind of deep slumber only a trauma victim would ever experience.

"I'm not an asshole," Harley mumbled as her eyes began to fill up with tears. "We're just not as similar as I thought."

/

Anthony glanced up at the clock. If he left now, he could be at his civics classroom in 5 minutes. Less foot traffic…and he'd be a comfortable 10 minutes early.

…But Carrie was still talking.

"So then he goes, 'hey, you should get your brother to try out for water polo', and I'm like 'my brother? I don't have a brother'." She was laughing now. "Long story short, he thought you were my brother, I think he was more into you then he was me, and he thinks you should try out for the water polo team."

Anthony narrowed his eyes, sizing up his friend, taking in the way her green eyes sparkled with mirth, magnified by her thick rimmed glasses. "You look like the lesbian version of me."

Carrie's giggle turned into a snort. "I am not a lesbian! And the lesbian version of you is just your Mom, dumbass."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Anthony got up from the table, ruffling her short hair.

"Rude!" She complained. "Do you have any idea how long it takes for me to put this look together?"

Anthony cocked his head in thought. "Throw on an ironic t-shirt, maybe a bowtie, Justin Beiber your hair a bit…I wouldn't exactly call your look sophisticated."

The glare he received in return was intense. "And I wouldn't exactly be taking pride in the fact that you take longer to pamper yourself than I do." Carrie intoned.

Anthony shrugged, shouldering his backpack. "Action expresses priorities."

"Yeah, Gandhi was a pedo, you know!" Carrie yelled after him as he exited the cafeteria.

"A racist, too!" He called back over his shoulder before beginning his jog across campus.

He slowed his pace as he approached the classroom, the door was closed, which was a bit unusual… "Ms. Kane?" He knocked, opening the door a crack to see her sitting at her desk watching a video on her computer.

She didn't hear him, or at least didn't acknowledge him. She seemed rapt by _—"_ _And so to those who did speak out and were still cast aside like it was their fault, like they should have known better or were asking for it, like they were less than human—"_

Anthony's ears pricked up. _Mom?_ He stepped further into the room, watching over his teacher's shoulder. _The interview…_

 _"—_ _let me just tell you that in 1966, I stayed too late in my lab one night. He wouldn't let me leave. He pressured me when I said no. When I resisted him verbally and physically, he implied that I owed him because he gave me a promotion, so I forfeited. But that night was no different than the nights that proceeded it, when he had me strapped to a table with a dirty rag in my mouth. It was rape, it was always rape, and it wasn't my fault."_

Anthony was frozen in place, his heart thrumming in his ears. _Mom…why?_

He watched as she stormed out of view of the camera, his other Ma remaining in her chair next to the hosts.

The video ended then, but Ms. Kane didn't turn around. Instead, she continued to stare at the now blank screen, and her voice was thick with emotion when she said, "She has PTSD, you know."

"Y—yes, I—I know," Anthony acknowledged.

Tuesday and Thursday were Mom's days for pickups, as Ma tended to train later with Selina. But today, when the window of Pam's Audi rolled down, it was Harley in the driver's seat.

Mr. Wayne enjoyed gifting Anthony's Mom fancy electric cars. This one, a charcoal gray Audi R8 e-tron, was just the latest model, but Anthony's personal favorite, as it was one of the few his parents had ever owned that had any leg room. This wasn't a problem for them, of course, as Harley—the taller of the two—was only 5'7", but Anthony was quickly closing in on 6'0", and as a result, riding as a passenger in sports cars wasn't one of his favorite activities.

Mr. Wayne was working on developing self-driving cars at his company, although it was clear the mass production of fully functional units wouldn't be a reality for some time. Anthony may have preferred this car be self-driving, though, as he didn't consider Harleen the safest driver on the planet, and there really weren't many material objects that Pam was attached to. This car just happened to be one of them. If Harleen hadn't grown up to be a doctor, Anthony could have seen her becoming a stunt car driver (or a getaway driver, maybe).

"Where's Mom?" Was the first thing he asked as he slid into the passenger seat, giving a wave to Carrie before shutting the door.

"Nice to see you too," Harley scoffed.

"She take Jo to gymnastics?"

"No…"

"She at work?"

"No, Anthony, she's sleeping." Harley exhaled. "She had a big day."

"Yeah, I saw that," Anthony sulked. "But you'll be happy to know that in the locker room game of 'Justice League: Marry, Fuck, Kill' at PE today, Mom moved from 'kill' to 'fuck'. Easier to degrade her now that they know she's a victim, I guess."

"Aww, good for her. Movin' on up." Harley chuckled. "Who were the other options?"

"Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl—but does it really matter?" Anthony turned to her, a bit offended.

"I'm assuming they killed Kendra?" Harley guessed. "I don't know…I think they might be better off trying to get with her than Wondy. Amazons are intimidating. Can't imagine Diana would show any of those boys a good time."

"Jesus, Ma," Anthony groaned, closing his eyes and slamming his head back against the headrest. "Can you just be appropriate for two seconds?"

"I'm sorry," she snickered, patting his knee. "Anybody ever tell you laughter is the best medicine?"

"You're a doctor," he reminded her. "You know that's not true."

"Well fine…if we're going to be all literal about everything…" she grumbled, flipping off the school bus she was stuck behind.

"Did you know she was gonna do it?" Anthony asked after a long moment of silence as they picked their way through the residential streets of Gotham City. "Was that the plan or did she just let a rant get out of hand?"

"I—I had an inkling she might discuss it," Harley confessed. "In fact, I encouraged her to. I'm sorry it's put you in a more difficult situation at school, but I need you to do me a favor and tread lightly around the subject in front of her for a while. I'm just gonna level with you here—she's having a really hard time."

"Yeah, I'm not planning on victim blaming my own Mom," He ridiculed. "It just seems like so much all at once…and she was so secretive and protective about that. I can't believe she just—told everyone. I mean, _everyone_."

"It's not for us to judge," Harleen told him. "She made a choice, she did what she needed to do…so, we support her. That's all there is to it."

Anthony didn't respond until they'd pulled into their driveway and Harley shut the car off. They sat there in drawn out silence until he finally ventured: "My civics teacher bought your book."

"Oh?" Harleen raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm…" Anthony nodded slowly. "She used to be a Marine…and she—she said it was important for people with PTSD to have someone to look up to. Someone strong who can also be vulnerable. Who isn't ashamed of transparency. She said she's happy Poison Ivy is a hero, and she wanted me to thank you for the way you speak frankly about these issues, especially your sexuality."

Harley cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. "Is she gay?"

"I guess it's why she was discharged," Anthony told her, a slight shrug in his shoulders. "That felt good. To hear, I mean. To hear you really have made a difference." He had to shift his gaze out the window. "So—I just wanted to say—I'm glad Mom has you in her corner because I guess Mom helps a lot of people, and I don't think she could do it without you."


	35. Chapter 35

Pamela's face was swollen when she woke up. It was dark now, but even so the air stung her eyes when she blinked them open.

The only light in the room was coming from the bathroom, which was confusing until Pam glanced at the alarm clock, seeing that it was past midnight.

"Oh, hey."

Pam heard Harley before she saw her, the blonde pushing the bathroom door open and forcing Pam's eyes shut once more to avoid the sudden onslaught of light.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Harley chuckled as she sat down on the bed and leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Solid nap?"

"The kids…" Pam mumbled. "I didn't—,"

"I took care of it," Harley assured her with a smile, her hand rubbing soothing circles on Pam's back.

"And the plants—I didn't water the plants." Pam hurriedly tried to sit up, but the sudden movement gave her a headache.

"Oh my God, I'm not an imbecile," Harley teased. "You really think I couldn't handle picking up the kids and watering the plants? I put pants on today too, aren't you proud?"

Pam's voice was still thick with sleep and raspy from crying. "All of them? You watered them all?"

"Well…almost. I missed one." the blonde admitted with a sigh. "But we're gonna remedy that right now." She slipped her arm beneath Pam's knees and used to other to support her back.

Pam let herself be lifted out of bed, wrapping her arms around Harley's neck so she wasn't just dead weight. But even still she mumbled a weak protest: "I don't want to take a shower."

"Good thing it's a bath, then." Harley set her down on the bathroom sink, and for the first time, Pam realized she was already naked.

She peaked over Harley's shoulder to see her suit laying discarded on the floor. "Bruce wants that back."

"Hm?" Harley turned around to follow her gaze. "Ah, yeah. I'll fold it." She winked, shutting both faucets off. "You know…I think I owe this house an apology. Remember when I used to trash talk the separate bath and shower?"

Pam nodded slowly, her attention traveling to the warm water that awaited her.

"Well I take it all back," Harley told her matter-of-factly. "And I really hope we don't ever have to move again because I simply refuse to go back to the barbaric ways of my past."

Pam cracked a small smile, mostly because she knew Harley was trying. That seemed to satisfy the blonde as she grinned, and helped her down off the counter, steadying her as she stepped one leg at a time into the bathtub.

The water was warmer than expected; scalding, even. But Pam pushed any thought of discomfort aside, as she recognized the bath's necessity. She ached all over, feeling generally lethargic and sore…she was dehydrated, and her unique hybrid physiology required both percutaneous absorption and oral consumption of water to restore homeostasis.

Harley leaned back against the counter to watch her, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled t-shirt in a show of nervous energy.

Pam didn't know what she wanted, exactly, nor did she know how to communicate it…so she just moved forward in the tub, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head on her forearms.

Harleen drummed her fingers on the counter for a moment before exhaling and lifting her shirt over her head, slipping her underwear off and stepping into the water.

She sat in the back of the tub, not pulling Pam close like she'd hoped she would, but instead dipping her hand into the water and lifting a wet finger to draw designs on the green skin of Pam's back.

"What are you drawing?" She asked, twisting her head to try and see.

"Nuh-uh…" Harley used Pam's chin to turn her gaze forward once more. "You have to guess. That's the game."

Pam sighed, closing her eyes and trying to visualize the shape as Harley repeated it over and over again. "It's a heart." She guessed.

"That was just a warm-up. Too easy," Harley wiped her back off like one would a dry erase board—which Pam found endearing, for some reason—"Alright…" the blonde started her next shape.

True to her word, this one was more difficult, but it made Pam smile when she finally realized what it was. "An elementary attempt at an anatomically correct heart?"

"Elementary?" Harley scoffed, though Pam could feel the smile on her lips when she pressed a kiss to her 'canvas'. "I'd like to see you do better."

The silence wasn't awkward, but it wasn't exactly comfortable either as Harley reverently traced the vines in Pam's shoulders (a source of endless fascination for her). The silence felt weighted, and Pam felt the need to apologize for the vulnerability she'd shown…but then Harley was gently urging her backwards and Pam obliged, leaning her weight against Harley's chest.

The blonde was tracing the vines on Pam's chest and down her sides now, watching the path her fingers took. Pam eventually surrendered herself to the soothing patterns, her eyes slipping closed and the world beginning to melt away.

"Hey…" Harley's whisper pulled her back. "Be honest with me…you think you could take Batman?"

Pam would have furrowed her brow if she hadn't been so exhausted. "He knows my weaknesses and would exploit them." She murmured.

"Well, yeah…" Harley conceded. "But let's say one-on-one. Mono y mono. Say…say he did something awful—like killed me—and you just went full on cruel Mother Nature on 'im. You think you could beat him?"

"Yes, of course." Pam assured her. "Why? Is Bruce planning on murdering you?"

"No," Harley chuckled. "But—what about Flash? Is he immune to your pheromones?"

"…not that I know of," Pam answered cautiously, not sure where this was headed.

"Hal?"

"I've taken down a Lantern before."

"Alright…" Harley seemed to be thinking. "Well what about Superman? What if you laced your special lipstick with kryptonite or something?"

"It would take some engineering…but I don't see why that wouldn't work." Pam vouched as she craned her neck to look up at her wife. "Why?"

Harley shrugged, brushing Pam's damp hair away from her face. "I was just thinking it's sort of funny how, in torturing you, Woodrue guaranteed he would be the last man to ever touch you." A wistful smile played on her lips as she continued. "Funny that a man who targeted you for your vulnerability made you almost completely invulnerable. That a man who prayed on women created one of the most empowered, outspoken feminist heroes the world has ever seen. That in subjecting you to his brutality, he insured that more girls would be able to spot predatory behavior early—since you're talking about it now and all. Poetic justice, I'd say."

As Pam listened, her heart began to beat a little faster, wishing they weren't descending back down this rabbit hole. "Yes, I can see the irony."

Harley cleared her throat. "That coach I had the affair with—,"

"The married 38-year-old man who you couldn't legally consent to?" Pam attempted to clarify, her disgust with the situation evident in her tone.

"The very same…" Harley moved Pam's hair aside to kiss her neck. "I think I was 10 when I met him…and I'm sure all the warning signs were there even then. I'm sure he started grooming me the second I stepped into the gym that first day—in my sparkly leotard with those silly pigtails and the Wonder Woman backpack I stole…" She chuckled, but Pam heard very little humor in the sound. "I wonder—if there was someone like you out there when I was a kid, talking about these issues…I don't know," she sighed. "I'm just thinking about Jo and how she's entering into a very similar environment and how she's so much better equipped than I was—how much she likes herself, how much she trusts herself and believes in her abilities—and I…if we can do that for our daughter, inspire that in her…maybe you could do that for other kids too."

The thought of her daughter having to navigate the same cruel world she and Harley had been made Pam's skin crawl. "That's a lot to think about."

"Yeah, well…I didn't have anything better to do today," her breath was warm against Pam's ear. "And I realized that my legacy—any imprint I'll leave on this planet—is yours and mine together. My kids are half yours, people can't talk about my career without mentioning Poison Ivy—the only contribution that is mine alone is Batwoman, and that's more of a thankless, suffer in silence type gig."

Pam tried her best not to sound hurt. "I'm sorry if you feel like I've monopolized your life…"

"That's not what I said…" Harley exhaled, wrapping a lock of red hair around her finger. "But I'd love to leave this world knowing I helped more people than just you, and that I was more than just someone's wife."

Almost panicked, Pam spun around in the tub, sloshing water onto the floor as she ended up on her knees in front of the other woman. "Harleen, you are so much more than that. You are a mother to—," she realized that didn't sound much better and attempted to backtrack. "I'm not some husband—,"

"—obviously," Harley interrupted to nod her head in the direction of Pam's bare breasts.

"That's obviously not what I meant," Pam huffed as she took Harley's hands in hers. "We're not my parents, Harleen. I don't regard you as simply attractive set dressing. We're partners."

"I know that," Harleen acknowledged with a smile, using Pam's grip on her hands to pull her onto her lap. "I'm your last secret, Pamela…" she dropped Pam's hands to encircle her waist. "And the only platform I have is the one I share with you." She leaned forward to kiss her softly. "Don't let your fear fuck up this opportunity. Even the strongest people can be victims, Babe, and you said it yourself: it's not your fault. I'm not saying don't feel angry. I'm not saying don't feel sad or hurt…I'm saying don't let this keep you from the world anymore. There are people out there who need you. Who have been waiting for you. And every person you help, every battle you win is vindication for me—a testament to your progress and to my life's work."

Pamela took in the full image of her wife: the small wrinkles around her eyes, the smile lines, the way her hair curled in the humidity…

This was a call to action. Like so many times in her life, Pamela was being given another purpose, another responsibility…but the way Harleen asked her, how she pleaded with those still childish blue eyes…she knew she could never say no—to a responsibility or to Harleen Quinzel. Pamela would let her back break under the weight of it all before she denied this woman.

And that's what love is.

/

"I'm sorry, that's…never happened before."

"Actually, it's the third time this month," Selina reminded him with a sigh, smoothing the covers over her chest.

"Just—give me a minute, alright?" Bruce was defensive as he turned away from her.

Selina rolled her eyes. "Bruce, really…it's fine. Although I honestly don't understand your reluctance about getting a Viagra prescription."

"I don't need it," he growled his response, preoccupied by a fruitless endeavor.

"Sure, Big Guy." She pat him on the shoulder. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, really. Evidently it's a problem for like 18 million American men. And—you know—we're old, so…I think we deserve a round of applause for even trying anymore."

"I'm not getting a Viagra prescription," Bruce grumbled, giving up and begrudgingly pulling his boxers back on.

"OK, fine." Selina propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. "It's embarrassing, I get it. Hurts your bat-pride and all that. But hey! Lucky us, we happen to be good friends with a pretty decent chemist. If Pam can help her dwife stop hearing voices, she can definitely get you a boner."

Bruce lolled his head to face her, an eyebrow raised. "Dwife?"

"Doctor-wife," she told him like it was obvious.

"You want me to ask Poison Ivy to manufacture erectile dysfunction medication for me? Are you serious?" Bruce was incredulous.

Selina shrugged. "Or we could see if she could help you out the old fashioned way—because clearly I can't anymore."

"Oh yeah, that's the problem." Bruce scoffed. "I was thinking of the woman in bed with me rather than the happily married lesbian I watched transform into a plant monster."

Selina stifled a laugh. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Bruce smirked, reaching to brush a piece of dyed black hair away from her eye. "Did you end up talking to Harleen today?"

"No, the bitch canceled our gym date," Selina grumbled. "Sent me a text that said she was letting herself go."

"Ivy didn't report to The Watchtower today either," Bruce remarked.

"Saw that one coming…" Selina muttered.

"Did Barbara tell you she and Dick are getting married?" Bruce changed the subject, clearly wanting to avoid a rehashing of that morning's argument.

"Oh?" Selina laughed. "Well I'm really glad they made sure they liked each other first."

"We've been sleeping together for way longer than they have, and last I checked you weren't Selina Wayne." Bruce reminded her.

She was laughing again. "Oh, come now, Darling. There's more than one way to make a family."

Bruce turned to her fully now, mirroring her by propping himself on his elbow. "Would you like to marry me?"

"Oh—no, not really." Selina chuckled, placing her hand on his cheek and giving him a firm kiss. "Not because I don't love you, and not because I plan to spend the rest of my time on this earth with anybody else…but it just seems stupid at this point. Unless you're planning on kicking me out, in which case 'yes, yes! A million times yes!'"

"Alright, well…fine." Bruce rolled over in defeat, opening the drawer of his bedside table. "But I know you like shiny things, so…" he tossed her a black velvet box.

There was no masking the surprise on her face. "You…you bought me a ring?"

"Well, no…I didn't buy it." Bruce admitted, picking up the box off of the comforter and opening the lid, revealing the engagement ring Selina immediately recognized from all the Wayne family photos. "Sorry, it was my Mother's, so you can't sell it."

Selina's throat went dry, and when she spoke, it came out a choked whisper. "But your Mother—she means so much to you."

"I'm sorry if I ever gave off the impression that you don't." He shut the box and was starting to return it to the drawer when she stopped him.

"No! I—can I say no to the marriage and yes to the ring?"


	36. Chapter 36

"And that brought some things up for you," Harleen guessed.

"Well, yeah!" Carrie sniffed, her eyes red rimmed. "I mean…here's this kid, no older than 8 years old, starving on the street. You can see his ribs through his tattered shirt—so of course I bring him home. I have to, right? He couldn't even remember where he lived, but I figured it out, and then when we get there…nothing. His mom answers the door high as a fricken kite with a kid on her hip and another one screaming somewhere behind her." Carrie was slowly getting more animated. "The dad's there too, totally zonked out of his mind on the couch—apartment's a total crap hole—and the mom's first reaction is surprise. And not because I was in costume, either. No, that didn't faze her for a second. She was surprised because she didn't even realize her kid was gone."

Harleen just nodded. When she had everything written down, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sat back, giving her patient her full attention once more. "Did that remind you of your childhood?"

Carrie scoffed, pulling her sweatshirt tighter around her shoulders. "The only difference being I was an only child." She laughed, mirthlessly. "My parents couldn't even keep track of one kid."

The redhead was looking through her now, rather than at her, so Harleen cleared her throat. "So what did you do?"

Carrie quickly abandoned whatever train of silent thought she'd boarded. "Huh?"

"With the boy," Harleen clarified.

"Oh," Carrie looked relieved. "I called Child Protective Services, obviously. That place was straight up uninhabitable. And those kids just weren't cut out for the street."

"But you were?" Harleen raised an eyebrow, pen poised.

"Well I met you and Mr. Wayne pretty early on, Dr. Q." Carrie smiled charmingly. "It felt good—having a purpose. Still does."

"It always does," Harleen returned the girl's good-natured expression with a kind smile of her own. "How are classes treating you?"

"They're awesome," Carrie told her. "Even worth the lecture I get from Anthony on a daily basis on how film school is just a giant waste of Mr. Wayne's money. You gotta tell that kid to live a little. Or—you know—let the rest of us live, at least."

Harleen's answering chuckle ended with a sigh. "He gets that from his Mother, unfortunately. Not sure it's something we can fix this late in the game. So…maybe you won't get his approval, but would mine mean anything to you?" she took Carrie's shy smile as an affirmative. "I think it's awesome that you found something you enjoy outside of all this." Harleen closed her notebook and got up from her chair. "Not only is it possible to do both, you should do both. It's this single-mindedness that gets people in trouble. Have a life and live it—and not just for the cape."

"Copy that." Carrie quickly rose from her seat to salute her.

Harleen started for the door, implying Carrie should follow—it was a few steps before the girl caught on. "You're taking over for Tim at midnight, right?"

"Yup," Carrie confirmed, bounding a step or two head so she could open the door for them.

Harley continued through the door and out onto the metal bridge that led from Harleen's office down to the Batcave's main computer (where Barbara sat performing a scan of the city). "Alright, well—without trying some 'tough girl' act—are you ready to get back out there or do you need to take a day? You know the drill. No shame in taking a step back."

"No, I think my head's been sufficiently shrunk." Carrie winked. "Tell the Missus I said 'what's up'."

"Yeah, I'll use that exact phrasing. We'll see what she thinks." Harleen laughed after her.

Once it was just she and Barbara alone in the cave, Harleen descended the stairs, taking a seat at the smaller monitor next to the one Barbara was using for her scan.

"All good?" Barbara questioned, without looking up.

"Yeah…" Harleen fired up the image scanner and uploaded her notes page by page into the file labeled 'Carrie Kelley'. "I think it would be better for her to work with Cass tonight, though. I know she and Damian are close, but I want her to be able to put her head down for a bit."

Barbara nodded and opened up the team schedules. "Cass is going east tonight."

"Yeah, better." Harley decided. "Okay," she exhaled. "I'm going home. How's your evening shaping up?"

"Well it's—uhh—,' Barbara fiddled with her glasses. "It's date night, so…I'm just waiting for Bruce to get back."

"Aww, I remember date nights," Harley ruffled Barbara's hair. "You guys…makin' it work. That's what I like to hear."

/

"MOM!" Jolene screeched at a pitch only dogs should have been able to hear as she slammed the greenhouse door behind her.

Bruce shot up from his seat and Pamela had to steady herself to avoid keeling over. "Jolene! You're going to give poor Bruce a heart attack." She scolded.

Bruce shot a hard look back Pam's way as he returned to his seat. "I'm fine." He intoned. "Good afternoon, Jolene."

"Hey, Uncle Bruce." The girl grinned, skipping over, her ponytail bouncing, to plant a kiss on his cheek. "What'cha doin here?"

"Well, Darling…When a man loves a woman very much…" Pam began, distractedly, as she applied a tourniquet to his upper arm. "Or—sometimes—when he doesn't love her at all but feels the need to satiate his more animalistic impulses—,"

"Which doesn't apply in this context," Bruce cut her off.

"Ohhhh, I see what this is," Jo snickered. "You're refilling your boner meds."

"That's Harleen's daughter," Pam mumbled an apology as Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You're going to feel a slight pinch." She warned him, readying the syringe.

"I'm Batman," he deadpanned. "I think I can handle a little—hey!"

"Oops," Pam smiled, cheekily. "Missed the vein."

Jo laughed at that as she plopped down on the bench. "Congrats on keeping your woman satisfied, Mr. Wayne. But Mom, I need you to pay attention to me right now, please and thank you."

"I'm afraid my attention will need to remain divided…" Pam murmured as she placed a drop of Bruce's blood on a microscope slide and gently maneuvered it under the lens for examination.

Jolene groaned. "OK, fine. Buuuutttt," she slapped an opened envelope down on the counter. "Guess who just got an invite the Olympic trials? I'll give you a hint: she's got two thumbs, two moms and she's like, really, super adorable."

Pam stopped immediately, ripping her focus away from the eyepiece to look at her daughter. "You…you…"

"Oh my God, Mom! Great guess! You're so smart," Jo laughed. "Yeah, look. Read 'em and weep." She tore the letter out of the envelope and held it up so Pam could get a closer look. "Says right there: Jolene Quinzel. That's me!" She giggled, getting up from her seat to throw her arms around Pam's neck.

"That's…fantastic," was all Pam could muster. "Have you…"

"Told Ma?" Jo guessed, allowing Pam some breathing room. "No, not yet." her grin stretched from ear to ear. "I wanted to do like a big surprise thing or something. I mean…she's gonna freak, right?" Jo was giddy at the idea. "Like, go all Aunt Sue on us or something."

Pam pursed her lips. "Well perhaps you should wait…just until tonight. When we're all in one place."

Jo thought it over for a moment before nodding, that wide smile still stretching her lips. "Yeah, alright. Sounds like a plan. I gotta start mapping my routine anyway."

Bruce's eyes narrowed at Pam as soon as Jo left, but Pam averted her gaze quickly, returning to her work. "I take it blood flow has been satisfactory?"

"The Olympics are for humans, Pamela."

"What about endurance? Are you still able to ejaculate?"

"Pamela," Bruce tried again, his expression austere. "Does she know she's cheating?"

The redhead cleared her throat lightly, shutting the light on her microscope off and removing the slide from the stage. "She does not understand the extent to which her physiology enhances her athletic performance, no." Pam admitted, still refusing eye contact.

"When were you planning to tell her?" Bruce wanted to know. "She's 15, Pam. She's been competing since she was 7. Her Mom was a collegiate gymnast…did you really not know this was likely her goal?"

"No, I knew." Pam untied the tourniquet. "I'm just assuming Harley will talk to her. She went through the same disappointment, after all."

Bruce's phone vibrated on the counter, but he ignored it. "Have you talked to Harleen about that?"

"Oh, well…no." Pam left his side to move deeper into the greenhouse. "But that's the only feasible plan of action. Why in the world would she think it was a good idea for me to talk to her? Harleen is a psychiatrist. She went to medical school in preparation for moments like this."

Bruce angrily snatched at his phone when it lit up with another text message, and he only seemed to get angrier from there.

Pam ignored him, continuing with the task at hand. "Because of your advanced age, I'd highly recommend we go with the oral tablets again. I worry about collapse with intravenous."

"They graffitied your billboard again," Bruce growled at his phone.

Pam rolled her eyes. "Please tell me they at least came up with something more original than 'slut' or 'whore'. Honestly, it's like these people have never owned a thesaurus. 'Harlot' would convey their message, as would 'floozy', 'tramp', 'trollop', 'fille de joie', 'bimbo', 'hussy', 'Jezebel', 'wench', 'doxie', 'minx', 'chippie', 'street walker', 'ho', 'tart', 'strumpet'—or, if they'd rather—'cum rag', 'cum dumpster', 'c—,"

"Ivy!" Bruce had to shout to stop her.

"Hm?" Pam turned to him, puzzled at the interruption. "I only mean the English language provides us with an impressive variety of ways to express ourselves. It's the redundancy that I find most offensive, at this point. Next time you want to call a woman a 'whore', Bruce, try 'trollop' instead. You might just make her day."

"They didn't write anything…" Bruce mumbled. "They just drew a…in your…"

"Oh, in my mouth?" Pam laughed. "Are they so illiterate that they aren't aware my saliva is toxic to any human with a last name other than Quinzel?"

"I just sent a cleaning crew," Bruce was saying, although Pam wasn't listening.

"How terrifying it must be to feel the ground shifting beneath you," Pam laughed. "Perhaps the white man is not as dominant as he once was. Perhaps, for the first time in 6,000 years, the rest of us have cleared enough space so that we can breathe—finally. They can't oppress or hate or violate so openly anymore because somewhere down the line, the rest of us realized we were allowed to take offense to the actions or words of an oppressor that imply we are unequal in some regard. Weak or stupid or useless or sick or wrong or inhuman, even. And all of that—every last drop of that abuse comes out of their fear, and that phallus they felt the need to spray paint into my mouth is very much the same animal. Because, Bruce, when you're accustomed to privilege, even the implication of equality feels like oppression."

Both greenhouse occupants turned, startled, when a slow clap emanated from the doorway.

"That was a good one, Babe." Harley complimented, smirking as she pushed off of the doorway. "I wanna go march on Washington now or something."

Pam just sighed, kissing her quickly before opening a cupboard and tossing Bruce a nondescript pill bottle. "You're welcome." She reminded him. "And that goes for Selina as well. Make sure she's aware it wasn't my goal in life to provide this service."

"Thank you," he granted. "And I'm sorry about the graffiti situation. I'll tighten our roof-access security at night."

"Well…no means yes, right?" Pam let a ray of depression slip by her sarcastic smile.

"Right," Bruce said with a similar exhaustion. "Good luck with your parenting responsibilities." He left after a wave, shutting the door behind him.

With another long, drawn out sigh, Pamela began to clean up her workspace.

"Shit day?" Harley wanted to know.

"Actually, all was going fine until very recently." Pam told her.

"Ooh, well I know what's sure to fix that," Harley looped her arm around the other woman's. "A big ole' cup of green tea. Or, you know, hot chocolate if you're sane."

Pam allowed herself to be pulled along back to the main house. Jo was sitting at the kitchen table when they entered.

"Hey, Ma!" she greeted animatedly, her excitement a stark contrast to Pam's glowering. "Everything running smoothly down at the super-secret place we're not allowed to talk about?"

"As a matter of fact…" Harley chuckled, filling the tea kettle and lighting the stove. "Oh—hey," she turned back around once the kettle was heating. "Have you guys ever wondered if Anthony and Carrie might ever…you know…or is that like incest or something?"

"Well on a purely biological level—," Pam started to answer, but was cut off when Jo, brow furrowed, said: "I thought Carrie was gay."

Harley crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter. "Is she? I thought that was just how all people that went to film school looked—gay or straight."

"I'm not familiar with that particular aesthetic," Pam admitted. "But to answer your initial question, Harleen: no, that's never crossed my mind."

"Well alright," the blonde shrugged. "What about you, Jo?"

Pam felt uncomfortable the moment the subject was broached.

"Me and Carrie?" Jo asked. "I mean…maybe. But, she's sort'a too similar to me and too similar-looking to Anthony for it not to be creepy, right?"

Harley laughed. "No, I just meant dating in general…but you seem to have put some thought into that one."

"Oh," Jo giggled. "Well, some senior did want to give me a ride on his motorcycle the other day."

Pam hoped her face didn't look as hot as it felt. "Had you—had you ever met him before?"

"Sure, yeah." Jo reassured her. "He's sort of a dickhead, but—actually—," she laughed. "It's funny cuz he sort'a looks like Babs' Dick. Except this guy thinks he's some kind'a badass. But anyway, I didn't accept. I was late to the gym...and he didn't have an extra helmet."

Pam could tell Jo had added that last bit just for her.

"You sound so smitten," Harley mocked, playfully.

"Nah," Jo smiled. "I've only got room for one special someone in my life, and right now that's gymnastics. Speaking of which..." she slid out of her chair, throwing a wink Pam's way.

Harley raised an eyebrow. "Are you…sending us on a cruise or something? I hope you had Mom marked as my daughter on the…" she trailed off when Jo held out the envelope to her.

Pam panicked internally, realizing they'd neglected the conversation that was supposed to serve as a precursor. She'd asked Jo to wait for a reason, and that reason was so they could avoid this exact situation.

A smile spread over Harley's face when she saw the return address, and it grew as she read the letterhead, becoming practically face-splitting by the time she was through with the text on the paper. Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked at her daughter, and Pam had to avert her gaze from the scene altogether for how it racked her with guilt.

"Jo!" Harley exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. "Oh my God, I…it feels like just the other day you were kicking Mom in the face on Christmas," she laughed, but it came out an odd mixture of that and a happy sob. "I'm so proud of you. So proud."

Pam was a bit lost on Harley's strategy here. It seemed like she was building her up pretty high just to tell her she wouldn't be allowed to compete, but she wasn't about to doubt her wife's skills in this area. Harley had been explaining difficult concepts to their children for the last 21 years.

"Pam, can you believe it?" Harley asked as she separated from the girl, wiping her eyes. "This one," she indicated Jo. "The littlest one. The girl one. She's—Jo, you got there! After all your hard work—this is it!"

And it occurred to Pam then, as Harleen stood there bursting with pride, that her wife had no idea they would have to crush their daughter's dreams.


	37. Chapter 37

Harleen sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands. "OK…" she tried to keep herself calm. "For future reference—you know—when your next wife wants kids—maybe you should explain all this shit up front."

"Oh, would you stop with that 'next wife' garbage?" Pam groaned. "I assumed this particular wrinkle was implied."

"Implied…" Harley repeated, slowly, rubbing her temples, her gaze fixed on her wife's bare feet. "Pamela…"

The redhead was nervously flexing her toes into the rug. "You—Harleen, you have to stop that."

Harley let her hands fall away, turning her gaze upwards. "Stop what? You don't think I'm entitled to a little processing time?"

"No, with your skin," Pam clarified. "It doesn't have the elasticity it once did, and your aggressive ministrations—,"

"Pamela!" Harley's jaw dropped in angry astonishment. "Read the room! You really think this is the time to discuss the elasticity of my fucking skin?" To Harley's surprise, Pamela quieted then rather than defend herself.

Harley got up to pace, and Pam sat down gingerly in the space she'd abandoned on the bed. "I don't understand," Harley said, finally. "This is such an insane oversight."

"And I don't understand how you don't understand!" Pam shot back, sounding more frustrated than angry. "I mean—Gaia, have you seen our son?" she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, unlocking it and thrusting it forward so that Harley could see the background image of Anthony in a Stanford t-shirt giving Jo a piggy-back and smiling cheesily at the camera. "He looks like a G.I. Joe."

"Yeah, I'm—aww!" Harley's tone changed quickly, her face melting into stupid grin at the picture. "When did you take that?"

"Oh, umm…last summer," Pam had to bite her lip to keep a smile of her own contained. "It was the last day before he went back to school, remember? At the beach?"

"Right, right, right," Harley acknowledged before pulling herself back on track. "Hey, nuh-uh, don't distract me. This is a huge deal, Pam."

"I know it is!" the redhead snatched her phone away. "The reason I left it to you in the first place is because I knew I'd find a way to say the wrong thing or upset her. I thought you were just waiting for the right time to talk to her!"

"The right—," Harleen was honestly surprised at what she was hearing. "The right time, Pamela? I've been encouraging this in her since the day she could walk. You really think I would have let it go this far if I'd known?"

"G.I. Joe." Pam repeated. "You know what I am, you know what they are. Don't play dumb, Harleen."

"Yeah," Harley let out a strangled laugh. "They're too human to be super, and too super to be human. How is that supposed to make sense to her, Pam? She went to practice every day, just like the normal girls, before school and after school. She bled and sweat and cried along with all the rest of them—and you want to sit here and tell me it's not fair to _them_? No, it's not fair to her."

Pam rolled her eyes. "This isn't about fairness, Harleen. This is about her not being able to pass a blood test. They'll check for performance-enhancing substances and what they'll find is that she isn't even fully human. Do you really want our daughter to be the figurehead of the 'should meta-humans be allowed to compete alongside mortals' debate? Because it's a fight we're sure to lose, and one I don't even think we _should_ win. Let the humans have their petty competitions."

Harley opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut, aiming to stop any flow of vitriol. _Dis bitch_ … "Petty?" she asked, her jaw tight.

Pam seemed to realize her mistake…but it was too late. Far too late. "No! I mean—not for you. It was a worthwhile aspiration for you…"

"Oh, because I'm one of those stupid humans, right?" Harleen spat.

"Harl…you know that's not what I meant." Pam sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"How come I always have to give you the benefit of the doubt when you say shitty stuff, but then when I'm a bitch you take everything personally?" Harley demanded.

"Can we keep this about Jo, please?" Pam calmly requested.

Harley scoffed. "How classic that you would leave this to me. Why do you keep bad-copping me? I'm a terrible bad cop."

"I'm not—bad-copping you," Pam scrunched her face at the phrase. "I'm inherently the bad cop in this scenario, seeing as I donated the genetic material that disqualified her. You're simply the messenger."

"Sure, and do you know what happens to the messenger?" Harley prompted. "They get shot. That's what."

Pam rolled her eyes. "You're being overly dramatic. Of course she'll be upset, she has every right to be, but you sound almost afraid of her wrath. We're the adults here. We'll take responsibility and then we'll move on."

"Pamela…" Harley sat down next to her on the bed, taking her hands and looking her intently in the eye. "Do you—by any chance—remember my reaction to this particular set back? Do you recall me handling it well?"

"There were mitigating factors in your situation," Pam reminded her. "This is a much simpler case. And Jo isn't you, despite the physical similarities."

Harleen groaned, getting up and snatching her car keys off of the dresser.

"Where are you going?" Pam asked, watching her apprehensively.

"To get ice cream," _duh._ "She's gonna need it."

/

"OK…" Jolene narrowed her eyes at her paper. "So maybe that's a little ambitious for a second pass…" _But…I've done it before…but only in practice…BUT if there was ever a time to go big or go home…_

Her ears pricked up at the sound of the stairs creaking. "Yeesh, took ya long enough." Jo scolded without looking, knowing it was her parents. "What were you guys doing up there? Making out?"

Harley was first down the stairs, moving at a pretty quick pace, actually. Jo raised her head and then and eyebrow along with it. "No? Nothing hot and heavy?"

Pam was following after her, a look of worry on her face as she watched Harley pull on her jacket. Her words, when she finally did speak, sounded distracted. "When you talk about your parents in a sexual context, it makes future sexual occurrences less enjoyable for your parents."

"Sexual occurrences?" Jo laughed. "You make it sound like it happens on accident."

"I'll be back," Harley mumbled, clearly not listening to the conversation going on around her. She shut the door loudly behind her when she left.

Jo furrowed her brow at the closed door before she allowed her gaze to drift to Pam, who stood, shifting uneasily three stairs up. "I guess menopause is rough?"

"Be nice," Pam warned, sternly.

Jo just smiled and shrugged. "Hey—how come Anthony is allowed to make menopause jokes but I'm not?"

"Because we like him better," Pam deadpanned, moving to sit across from Jo at the table.

Jo watched panic flash across the woman's eyes when she didn't respond right away. "That was in jest. You know we love you equally, right?"

Jo laughed, shaking her head and returning her attention to her paper. Sometimes she wondered if it was even possible for parents to love their kids equally. Sure, they could say they did, but didn't everyone secretly have a preference about everything? Sometimes Jo wondered why is was so important for Pam that she and Anthony knew they were on equal footing. On cop shows, usually the most defensive person was the one who murdered their mistress because she was pregnant or something. BUT, it was also sometimes the jealous landlord with a peephole. And he would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for those meddling kids and their dumb dog. But like, if he can talk, how is he dumb? And he always finds the monster, even though his mental processing is obviously regularly impaired by illicit substances. _Wait, what?_

Jo shook her head to save herself from her own thought process. "You don't look like a 'Pamela'," she said, suddenly—maybe a bit too loudly—startling her Mom. "But you look even less like a 'Pam'."

"It was a very fashionable name at the time," she was assured.

 _Weird conversation starter, Jo_. "And you never thought about changing it?" Jo asked, setting her pen down. _You doing this cuz you're uncomfortable, or…what's your deal?_

"Well, I have." Pam reminded her. "I was Paula, and now I'm Lillian."

"Nah, you're still Pam." Jo decided. "Ma still calls you Pam, Aunt Selina still calls you Pam, Babs…Bruce…you're still Pam."

Her Mother shrugged. "It's the name my Mother gave me, and I would prefer you didn't change your name, so…what kind of example would it set if I did?"

Jo held in a snicker. "'Pam' makes you sound like an old lesbian whose only friend is a cat."

Pam rapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. "I am an old lesbian whose only friend is a cat."

Jo narrowed her eyes, mulling that over. "Yeah, alright. Touché. But'cha don't look like one."

"Fine." Pam was amused, judging by her smile. "What do I look like, then?"

"Well, 'Sasha Fierce', obviously."

Pam laughed—a genuine laugh that seemed to surprise her. "You think I should legally change my name 'Sasha Fierce'?"

"It's the obvious choice," Jo reiterated. "Or, I don't know—something sexy. Like 'Selina' is way sexier than 'Pam'. So is 'Harley'."

"Mmm…" Pam sighed, wistfully, biting her lip. "I suppose I'll just have to continue subsisting on my feminine wiles, then."

It took a moment before Jo realized what was happening. "OH MY GOD, is that how you flirt? You cruel, evil seductress. Is that how you got Ma in the sack?"

Pam sat back with a laugh. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"No—I wouldn't," Jo tied to look stern, but it was hard when her Mom was being playful like this. She could be funny if she wanted to. She just…sometimes didn't want to, but Jo always appreciated it when she did.

Pam's laugh faded into a smile. "Did you—did we ever tell you why we named you 'Jolene'?"

Jo shrugged. "Because you're from the south or something?"

"No, I'm from Seattle, Jo. You know that."

"Oh, right." The girl acknowledged.

"My Mother was, though. From the South." Pam told her, clearing her throat. "My father was from Seattle, but he attended the University of Virginia—law school. My maternal Great Grandfather founded one of the most respected firms in Charlottesville, which my grandfather took over when he died. My father wanted a job there out of law school so he began courting my Mother in hopes of marrying into the family." She looked almost relieved when she was through.

"Then how did they get back to Seattle?" Jo wondered.

"Oh, I don't know. My father likely felt emasculated knowing that his new bride was the only reason he got a job, he didn't exactly graduate top of his class, you see." Pam divulged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "So he took his prize and moved back home."

"He sounds like a real…butthead." Jo decided.

"He was a real butthead," Pam agreed with a chuckle.

"Did you…" Jo sat forward slightly. Her Mom didn't talk about her parents all that often, and when she did it was usually to tell some sad story about her Mother not letting her outside or something. "Did you hate him?"

"Oh, yes." Pam nodded ardently, recognizing Jo's interest. "He cared so little about me it was almost humorous. Until I was about…mmm…" she squinted, searching for the memory. "15, maybe. And then he started bringing me to meetings with potential clients and parties and galas…"

Jo was almost afraid to ask. "Why?"

"I was good for business," Pam answered, plainly.

 _Yeah, that's what I thought._ "You're tellin' me he pimped out his own underage daughter?"

"Well _pimped_ is a strong word." Pam corrected. "I was only required to be charming, gracious, and to humor them…my father was the first man I ever killed, but he certainly wasn't the first man I thought about killing."

Jo nervously cleared her throat. "That's—heavy, Mom." Jo recently had it pointed out to her that she tended to discuss murder a bit too casually, so she decided it would be a good start to keep her Mom accountable to the same issue.

"Yes, I know…" Pam looked apologetic. "But according to your Mother, the way they raised me wasn't their only disservice. Naming me 'Pamela' wasn't great either. But her reasoning was because I look like the woman that singer describes in the song, and she was worried you'd grow up looking like me and we'd miss another opportunity, so…you're Jolene." She smiled.

"Solid segue." Jo tried to make a joke in hopes of lightening the mood…but her Mom's eyes were glazed over slightly, her gaze wistful…and it occurred to Jo (as it sometimes did) that her Mother was an old woman. Older than some of her peers' grandparents. She grew up during the depression, how weird is that?! She was like a human time capsule, and there were so many questions to ask, so many Pam could answer…but these times, the just the two of them times were rare, and sometimes Jo's questions put Pam in a bad mood, and she didn't want to ruin anything…but she couldn't resist. "Do you think pretending to seduce those guys was what taught you to be Poison Ivy?" she ventured, bravely.

Pam blinked at the question, as it seemed to catch her off guard. Jo was just about to rephrase when Pam finally decided to answer. "I think...my mother taught me to hate myself, my father to hate men, and Woodrue to hate humanity. Between them they provided me the method, means and motivation for what I became."

Jo sat back to think on that for a moment, but Pam (evidently) had more to say.

"Trust me when I say I understand all too well the profound effect a parent can have on their child. And I—," Pam cleared her throat. "I want you to know that I have done my very best to inspire and support you, and I am truly sorry for what is out of my control."

A smile slowly tugged at the corners of Jolene's mouth. "Are you…worried about getting murdered?"

Pam ran a hand through her hair, swallowing as she did. "No," she said with a slight smile. "Although I'd love to see you try.

Jo giggled, turning her attention to the door as the knob twisted and Harleen pushed it open. Her eyes fell quickly to the plastic bag the woman was holding, and to the unmistakable silhouette of an ice cream carton within.

"Hey, what gives?!" Jo shouted, affronted by the purchase. "You guys are just gonna have an ice cream party without me?"

"No…" Harleen sighed, setting the bag down on the counter and freeing the ice cream from its plastic confines.

"And Rocky Road, too?!" Jo shot up from her chair. "That's just plain vindictive. You know I'm on my prep diet."

Silently, Harley got a bowl down from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer, opening the carton and scooping until the bowl was nearly overflowing with ice cream. With a sigh, she turned around and slid the bowl over to Jo. "Sit down, Honey."

Jo glanced at the ice cream, and then at Harley's face. She looked…weary. "OK…" Jo lowered herself back into her chair. "Did…did somebody die?"

"No," Harley said again, taking a seat next to Pam at the table. "Eat your ice cream."

 _Uhhh_ … "Ma, I don't want it." Jo was just plain confused at this point.

"Fine," Harley grabbed the bowl from her, taking a quick bite before sliding it back.

Pam reached over to place a supportive hand over Harley's on the table, and that evidently helped Harley gather the courage to say: "Jo…we need to talk…"

"Alright…" the girl repeated, sitting back and crossing her arms, regarding her parents critically. "I'm all ears, I guess."

Harley rubbed her eyes briefly before setting her gaze hard on nondescript spot on the table. "Jolene, you aren't human. You are a plant-human hybrid, and that will disqualify you from the Olympic trials."

 _Come again?_ "W—wait, what?" Jo laughed…until she realized Harley still wouldn't meet her gaze and Pam just looked sad. "What do you mean?"

Harley bit her lip rather than answering, and Pam picked up the slack when she noticed. "Your genetic markers and physiology are unique, and the drug tests the Olympic committee performs search for anomalies. You are an anomaly."

"Wha—no, I—I'm not like you," Jo sat forward. "I don't have any powers or anything. I can't even hear the plants like Anthony can. I just have those dreams sometimes is all. And look! I mean, I don't even have the skin thing." She held up her naturally pale wrist.

"We know," Harley murmured. "But the fact that you present as normal doesn't change your DNA."

"But, but I've been competing against normal kids my whole life! No one ever knew the difference." Jo sputtered.

"And they wouldn't," Pam granted. "Until they ran your blood."

"Ha! No, that's bullshit. Total bullshit," Jo stood up, _what the hell is this shit_? "I earned my spot! You saw, I'm the best kid out there, who the hell cares if I've got some plant in me. Survival of the fittest, right? I'm the fittest."

"Jolene, the Olympics aren't some fight to the death. It's not about survival, it's a game." Pam reminded her, calmly. "And according to the rules, you're cheating."

 _CHEATING_? "Cheating? How am I cheating?" the girl demanded. "It's not my fault my mom's a superhero. I'm not a superhero. I'm just a kid who happens to have a little plant in me."

"Just—sit down," Harley quietly pleaded.

 _How about you go fuck yourself instead?_ Jo obliged, slamming herself back into her chair.

Harley waited patiently, then said: "You are 'super', Jolene."

"Well, you're elevated." Pam corrected. "Your metabolism is accelerated due to how your body processes solar energy. You also heal a bit faster than a typical human, your skin won't be able to permanently scar…"

"Oh, fantastic." Jo scoffed. "So my superpowers are: I can't get fat, don't need Band-Aids and if I Two-Face myself, no biggie?" _some consolation prize_.

"You're also naturally more agile, a bit stronger and faster too." Pam assured her.

"That is—this is—no." Jo shook her head. "No, I'd rather be totally human and get to compete."

"I am truly sorry for what is out of my control," Pam recycled her line from earlier.

Jo's jaw went slack as realization dawned. _You mother—_ "Wait, so…basically…that entire conversation we had was just so, when you told me this, I'd realize that, hey! So my parents curb-stomped my life goals, but at least my Mom's not a total _cunt_ all the time?" Jo felt a twitch of satisfaction when both women flinched at her word choice. "Or—damn—so even though I deserve to represent my country on the world stage, I should appreciate I don't have a dad that treats me like an escort so it's all OK? No." she decided. "Fuck that and fuck you."

"Jolene," Pam started, obvious hurt marring her fair features. "I don't expect you to understand—,"

"—No, you know what?" Jo interrupted, roughly snatching the ice cream bowl from the table and shoving her chair backwards to stand. "I don't have to listen to this shit. You're not a philosopher. Stick to plants, asshole. And by that, I don't mean me."

/

Pam watched Jo storm up the stairs, ice cream in hand. _That went downhill quickly…_

And she continued to watch, even after they heard Jo's bedroom door slam.

"I guess that went about as well as it could…" Harleen mumbled.

Pam silently rose from the table, moving to the counter to return the lid to the ice cream. Harley's phone vibrated in her pocket while Pam was placing the carton in the freezer.

The blonde had to put her glasses on to read the text message. "It's Jo," she said, waiting for Pam's undivided attention, which she was soon granted. "She says 'testing is less stringent at the trials. Coach will vouch for me. I just wanna know I could make it'."

Pam leaned back against the counter with a sigh as the phone vibrated once more. "What does it say?" she prompted after Harley had been silent for a moment.

The blonde cleared her throat. "It says… 'Mom's not invited.'"

"Well at least she didn't shoot the fucking messenger," Pam muttered.


	38. Chapter 38

"Name?"

"Quinzel."

"Jolene?" the woman asked.

"That's me."

She nodded, scribbling something down on the paper in front of her. "Third party or on-site drug testing?"

"Third party. It's—uh—my gym should have sent it over already. Gotham Gymnastics Academy?"

"Mmm…" the woman narrowed her eyes at the computer screen in front of her, and typed a few quick letters, all of which was contributing significantly to Jo's growing anxiety. "Ah, here it is." She said, finally. "Jolene I. Quinzel…just the initial?"

"Just the initial," Jo smiled.

"OK…" she made a note. "Is that your Mother?" she asked, referring to Harleen who was standing off to the side.

"That she is," Jo acknowledged. "Ma, they've got some medical waivers for you to sign or something, I'm gonna check out the venue if that's—is that cool?"

The woman nodded, so Jo picked up her duffle bag, mumbling "later" as she passed by Harley in search of the locker rooms. Wasn't too hard to locate once she found the "ATHLETE" signs pointing her in the right direction.

Yeesh, quit yellin' at me, Jo thought as she followed the last sigh around a corner to find a man sitting at a table in front of what she presumed to be the locker room.

"Name?" the man asked.

Jo sighed internally. "Quinzel, Jolene."

"No. Way." A shrill female voice said behind her. "Jolene Quinzel?"

OH MY FUCKING GOD PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME SAY MY NAME AGAIN. "Yes," Jo turned around with a broad smile. "How about I say it louder for the people in the back? MY NAME IS JOLENE QUINZEL!"

The girl—who was blonde, very small and someone who Jo vaguely recognized as a gymnast from the Central City gym—was laughing. "I know, right? Why do they act like somebody would want to impersonate us? Don't they know how much this hair hurts? I'm Courtney—but I'm not gonna yell it, if that's OK?"

"Oh, uh—yeah, that's perfectly fine," well now Jo felt a little embarrassed. "I'm Jo—but I guess we already established that."

"We did," Courtney giggled. "Sorry, I don't want to distract you or anything, I just—umm…" she set her bag down and unzipped it, shuffling around inside until she pulled out a roll of athletic tape and a sharpie. "Will you sign my tape?" she asked, biting her lip nervously.

"Will I—what?" Jo laughed. "You want me to sign your tape?"

"Well…yeah," Courtney blushed. "I'm probably not gonna make it, if I'm being honest with myself, and—uh—I'm pretty sure they've already printed up your posters because you're like a given, so…well now I feel stupid," she laughed. "I'm just a fan and if we're not gonna be teammates, I want people to at least know I was good enough to be in the same room as you."

"Hey, you never know," Jo grinned, searching through her mental gif library for the best 'internally screaming' option. "Anything could happen. But yeah, I'll totally sign your tape." She held out her hands and the girl excitedly deposited both items.

Courtney stared down at her feet as Jo scribbled her name. "You're really pretty—I mean!" her head shot up in alarm. "Your makeup! Is really pretty. I meant your makeup."

Jo just smiled at the bright pink of the girl's cheeks as she handed the autographed tape back to her. "Can't both be true?"

/

Selina opened the door before Pam even had a chance to knock, wearing a 'USA' t-shirt and sporting a smile that communicated her pity.

Alfred died roughly 7 years prior, and Selina had taken up the door answering duties since then because Bruce simply didn't have the heart to hire a new butler. Alfred did get to see Selina wearing the engagement ring before he passed, though, which seemed to be a great comfort to Bruce. Evidently, Alfred had wanted him to settle down for some time, so even though the ring was purely symbolic, it had meant something to Alfred.

Selina was wearing the ring now, along with a wedding band that she—again—swore she only accepted due to the quality and craftsmanship of the item.

"Hey…" Selina exhaled.

"No makeup today?" Pam asked, referring to the brunette's pale complexion. She just couldn't deal with Selina's sympathetic tone.

Selina shrugged. "I didn't see the point. It's just us."

Pam acknowledged her with a nod, starting into the doorway, trying to slide past her…but Selina stopped her by placing two hands firmly on her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. "What the hell are you doing?" Pam demanded.

"Hugging you. What the fuck does it look like?" Selina asked, not relinquishing her grip in the slightest

"Well stop, please." Pamela requested, frankly alarmed by this show of affection. "We're going to miss the thing. Are Barbara and Dick already here?"

"They are," Selina confirmed. "But how about we don't refer to the Olympic trials as 'the thing' ever again."

"Fine, apologies." Pam waited for Selina to release her, and made a b-line for the living room as soon as she did, finding that Babs and Dick were, indeed, there, sitting on one of the couches wearing similar nationally branded attire.

"Hey!" Dick greeted happily. "Check it out, Pam." He twisted in his seat so that she could see the name "Quinzel" printed on the back of his shirt.

"You all realize this isn't the actual Olympics, right? It's just the audition." Pam attempted to set them straight, as they were clearly confused.

"First off, it's not an audition, dumbass." Selina pushed past her to take a seat in the largest empty, leather chair. "It's a try-out." She curled her legs up under her body. "And it's the closest Jo's gonna get to the actual thing. This is her Olympics and we're going to treat it as such."

Pam felt a tap on the shoulder and turned to find Bruce standing there, holding out a shirt to her that seemed to be identical to Dick's. "She'll be happy to know you're watching."

"Thank you," was the best response Pam could muster as she took the shirt from him, sitting down in the chair next to Selina's.

"They've been talking about her for like a half hour straight," Barbara reported. "I'm honestly not sure if they're aware other girls showed up."

"Why?" Pam asked, remaining on the edge of her seat. "I mean, she's wonderful, obviously, and is clearly talented…but I don't quite understand what makes her so much better than the other girls. It seems like every competition she participates in; she's just expected to win. Why?"

Selina laughed. "Harley never explained this to you?"

"Well…no…but to be fair, I never asked." Pam admitted.

"It's because of her start value," Dick told her. "The judges evaluate each routine for its difficulty score, and Jolene's routines are so difficult that she automatically starts like a point ahead."

"Hypothetically, a girl could execute her routine to absolute perfection, just be flawless, and Jo could make a mistake and still beat her," Barbara explained.

"So, really…" Pam was trying to understand. "It's a completely individual sport. She's competing against herself, and even more so because of the…" she attempted to recall the phrase. "Start value of her routine."

"Exactly," Selina agreed. "And Jo's routines have the highest difficulty scores in the world right now—for a woman, anyway—which is a victory in itself. She'll change the sport, Pam, especially since they don't know they're competing against a meta-human."

Pam sighed, "and that's why her routines can be so difficult."

"Well sure," Selina conceded. "But also—OK—look." She pointed at the screen where the athletes could be seen warming up. "Watch the way her body moves once it leaves the ground."

Pam waited until it was Jo's turn on the vault, and watched as she sprinted down the runway, launching off the apparatus into a series of flips and twists before landing solidly on two feet.

"See?" Selina prompted.

Pam didn't see…she'd watched Jolene perform stunts like that countless times…but she nodded like she did, as Selina coming off somehow intellectually superior was a nightmare that had plagued her for some time.

Selina chuckled, obviously recognizing her bluff. "She understands her body in space, and the physics of each movement. Like, just there, she came off the table a little sideways, but was able to make an adjustment because she understood her velocity and trajectory. She's smart," Selina smiled. "A smarter gymnast than Harley was—and unless your plant DNA added some IQ points, that's all her."

Pam sat in silence for a moment, watching Jo conversing amicably with another girl, wearing her typical sunny smile—something Pam hadn't seen for over a month now. "She didn't want me there today." Pam murmured.

Selina cleared her throat as the rest of the living room occupants shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, we know. But hey, jokes on her! This is the best seat. We get to rewind, fast-forward through commercials…"

"And the camera angles," Dick added. "We get to see everything from all different camera angles."

"Hey, it's Harley!" Barbara changed the subject by pointing to the screen where it showed the blonde sitting alone in the stands. "Turn it up."

Bruce obliged.

"Little known fact," the female commentator was saying. "Jolene's mother, Harleen, was a pretty accomplished gymnast herself, won a collegiate national championship all-around in 1991."

"Well talent clearly runs in the family," the male commentator chuckled. "It seems Mr. Quinzel couldn't make it today, but—"

Pam grabbed what was nearest to her and rifled it at the television, and the others jumped to their feet as the object bounced off the screen and clattered to the floor.

"Pamela!" Bruce shouted. "Do you have any idea what this television cost?"

"I'm more concerned with where she found a Rubik's cube," Selina leaned over to pick it up off the ground.

"Did they do absolutely zero research?" Pam demanded. "This pervasive heteronormativity—,"

"OK," Selina gabbed her around the waist, pulling her down so that they now shared the large chair. "We're only 10 minutes in. How about you sit on that rant for a bit?"

"If I was there—,"

"They'd probably call you Harley's friend," Bruce cut her off. "Would that have been more or less offensive?"

"I just—I demand to know why our standards are so low." Pam rebuked. "How, after 31 years of marriage, is my relationship still less legitimate than yours or yours?" she posed the same question to both couples. If Pam was being honest with herself, she was just using this as a distraction from the fact that her daughter really hadn't spoken to her since that fated conversation around the kitchen table.

"Because people are assholes, Pam. You spent a career preaching that," Selina reminded her.

"No—," Bruce started to intervene, before Pam shot back with: "If you whip out your 'men are still good' speech I'm going to use that Ficus to strangle you, I swear."

Bruce just quietly closed his mouth, lightly clearing his throat as he leaned back into the couch cushions.

Pam fixed him there with a warning look before turning her attention to the television once more, which was—luckily—unharmed by the Rubik's cube assault. She couldn't help feeling melancholy. This was the biggest day of her daughter's life, and here Pam was…sitting in Bruce Wayne's living room next to Selina rather than next to her wife at the venue.

Jo was entitled to her frustration—absolutely. Pam wouldn't wish to take that away from her in a million years, but she'd hoped that after a month, she'd be able to put some of this aside for just one day, to allow Pam to witness her daughter's greatest joy in life. Maybe Pam would never be able to fully understand it. Maybe it would always be a bit easier for her to get along with Anthony being that he shared so many of her interests…but Jo would always be her little girl, and her triumphs and failures would always feel like Pam's burden to share. She didn't know how to apologize for the very thing that bound them together. What made Jo hers was now the wedge driving them apart.

Pam knew that this likely could have been avoided had she ignored her fear of a negative reflection and told Jo the truth when she was just a child—before her goal came within reach. But what good did that do her now? Regret, guilt, shame…what was the point of it all? She couldn't go backwards. She'd already apologized—profusely—for the choices she'd made, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. Harleen told her to just wait until after the trails, after Jo was through with this period of her life and ready to move on. But Pam was afraid, frankly. What if moving through this period took Jo years? What if she held onto this forever just as Pam had everything her mother ever did?

"16 flat, at least, come on, baby…" Selina was crossing her fingers following Jo's floor routine. "16.2! no fucking way!"

Pam watched Jo graciously accept congratulations from the other athletes, her smile still wide and bright…but the hurt behind her eyes was easy to see.

By the time it was all over and they were ready to announce the team, Jo had only been deducted a cumulative four-tenths, which (according to Selina) meant she'd been nearly perfect on all of her routines. Harleen looked sad too—or apologetic, maybe—when they showed her in the stands. The commentators said it looked like it was all just too much to process, but Pam knew the truth: it was an empty victory.

/

Jolene smiled when they called her name. She happily waved to the crowd as she stepped onto the floor wearing her new, official USA sweat-suit, and gave an excited high-five to the other four girls whose names were called…though she wasn't really paying attention until they called the first alternate: Courtney Whitmore.

Her being first alternate meant that she would take over Jo's forfeited spot, and that knowledge provided Jo with maybe her first genuine smile all night, bittersweet as it was.

Afterwards, once Harley had informed the coach Jo would be pulling out, she caught up to Courtney in the hallway.

"Hey!" she called after her.

Courtney turned around immediately, her eyes wide. "Jolene, congra—,"

"Yeah, no, I'm not going." Jo panted, tired from the event and the fact that she'd just about had to sprint to catch up with her. "I can't go."

Courtey looked stunned. "You're—but—what do you mean?"

"It, umm…it turns out I didn't earn it." Jo had to fight hard to keep the tears at bay. "So, really, it's you who's deserving of congratulations, and I'll be watching—so don't fuck up." She'd meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding sincere and thick with emotion. "I hope it's as awesome as it looks on TV."

Courtney seemed to be at a loss for words, so Jo just started back down the hallway to where Harleen was patiently waiting.

You know what…

She quickly spun back around. "Oh, and just for the record, it's totally OK to think girls are pretty for reasons besides their makeup," and with that she grabbed the girl's face and pulled her into a kiss that probably didn't need to last as long as it did, but the shade of pink in Courtney's cheeks when they separated communicated her appreciation.

Harley looked thoroughly bewildered when Jo jogged to rejoin her.

"Did you just—,"

"Make her day?" Jo asked. "Yeah, I did."

 **Author's note: apologies for the bottle chapter**


	39. Chapter 39

The best part about Harley and Pam being married for as long as they had was by this point, they were totally in sync. They didn't even have to talk most of the time (although Harley liked to), they just understood what the other person was thinking…feeling…it was comfortable.

The worst part about Harley and Pam being married for as long as they had was by this point, they were totally in sync. They could understand what the other was thinking, feeling…when they weren't sleeping.

 _When they weren't sleeping_.

 _Hint, hint, Pam. When they weren't sleeping_.

Harley was attempting to telepathically communicate to her wife that she needed to shut her fricken eyes and quit shifting around.

By the 4th passive aggressive sigh in as many minutes, Harley was fed up. "Pamela!" she hissed. "Will you knock it off."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Pam murmured. "Did I wake you?"

Harley rolled her eyes. "Sort of hard to wake me up when I haven't gone to sleep," she exhaled, rolling onto her other side to observe Pam on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

"She hates me, doesn't she?" Pam murmured.

"If the 'she' in this scenario is a feeble old woman named 'Harleen', then yeah, 'she' hates you."

Her wife was clearly unamused, so Harley sighed, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. "She's 15 years old and she had something really important taken away from her. Yes, she hates you. She hates the whole situation. Probably the whole world right now, honestly. But it will blow over. I promise, alright?"

Pam's jaw was set, her mouth a hard line. "Harleen, it's been a week. She still hasn't left her room."

"Well…part of that is strategic," Harley reminded her. "Remember? She ran into that reporter and didn't know how to handle it."

"Right," Pam turned to her, speaking in earnest now. "Have we decided on a disease yet, by the way? Now that she's committed herself to having one?"

Harley groaned as she moved onto her back, shifting her gaze from Pam to the single chip in the ceiling's paint. "Huntington's, maybe? Neuropathy? Lambert-Eaton? I'm not sure she's got the acting chops required for Parkinson's or ALS. I don't know, but I'm leaning autoimmune."

"Not neuropathy," Pam decided. "There's no way we're selling Type 2 Diabetes and she probably would have required a pump by now if she had Type 1. Huntington's is just too degenerative, I think, besides juvenile onset is so rare we might be under tougher scrutiny. And I don't mind the LEMS idea, aside from the fact it's usually indicative of another underlying disease, so…are we prepared to give our daughter a fabricated cancer diagnosis on top of a fabricated autoimmune disease diagnosis?"

Harley was almost physically fighting off sleep at this point. "I don't know—but we've got all my chairs and ramps, the van…so…if she needs to pretend to be paralyzed, she's in the right family."

"Except for it's recently been brought to my attention that Jolene is somehow the highest scoring gymnast in the world right now, and as such, her suddenly forfeiting her spot on the Olympic team is reasonably suspicious. Announcing she has some rare disease won't help her disappear quietly. Doctors from all over the country will volunteer their services." Pam, by comparison, didn't sound the least bit fatigued.

 _Ugh, she's right_ , Harley had to mentally regroup. "And even if we go with something more common she'll still be required to give an inspiring speech at the ESPYs." She realized.

They lay there in silence for a moment before Pam asked: "What did you tell the coach when she withdrew?"

"Personal issues." Harley turned the phrase over in her mind. "She could be pregnant?"

"Absolutely not," was Pam's immediate response.

"Well, fuck, Pam!" Harley threw the blankets off of her upper body, exasperated as she sat up. "We can't win. It's obviously impossible."

Pam shut her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. "OK," she said, finally. "How about Leukemia, and we have someone over at S.T.A.R. Labs say they're treating it. We just announce that up front to deter anyone from volunteering."

"Alright, fine." Harley agreed. "What stage is it in? When did we find out?"

"We caught it early," Pam proposed. "And found out just before she received the invitation. After her diagnosis, she decided the trials would be her final showcase."

Harley squinted, running a few scenarios in her head… "Yeah, good." She decided.

"Great," Pam smiled as she pushed the blankets away and began to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Harley questioned.

"To run it by Jo," Pam informed. "I want her to feel like she has some power in this decision."

"Hey—umm—no," Harley grabbed her hand, pulling her back down. "It's 2 o'clock in the morning and didn't you kill an alien today? Why aren't you tired?"

"Well, just one," Pam reasoned. "And he fell, I didn't kill him."

Harley raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Did you push him?"

Pam cleared her throat as she reluctantly settled back into bed. "I wasn't aware that particular species couldn't fly."

"Mhm, likely story," Harley snickered, scooching down off her pillow and placing her hand under Pamela's lower back, coaxing her upwards. Though blatantly puzzled, Pam obliged her, allowing Harley to strip off her underwear and toss them to the side of the bed.

She sat up once more to peer over the edge at where they'd landed. "Now look what you did," Pam complained. "They're face down and I'll have to find a clean pair before…" she trailed off as Harley pushed her down into the pillows.

"Sorry," Harley kissed her. "Is there a panty drought I'm not aware of?"

"Well no, but—,"

"—nuh-uh-uh, no buts," Harley silenced her with another kiss, this one considerably less chaste than the last. "Please," she moved down, planting kisses as she went. "You're gonna lay there, I'm gonna help you out, and then we're gonna go to sleep. Deal?"

Pam looked at her with some reservation, like maybe she had something to say but was holding back? But she did eventually lean her head back and close her eyes. "Deal," she mumbled, folding her hands neatly over her stomach.

Aside from a quiet sigh when Harley first made contact, Pam was basically completely silent…and motionless, too, aside from her breathing. In fact, she was so unresponsive that Harley just assumed she'd fallen asleep.

…until Pamela suddenly sat bolt-upright to ask: "Why don't you ever want to be with me anymore?"

Harley had to check and make sure she wasn't currently in between her wife's legs and…yup. "What are you talking about?" she ended up sounding more critical than she'd meant to.

"I'm just…" Pam sighed, maneuvering herself onto her knees. "I'm aware that there are far more pressing issues to deal with, and maybe…you're still unhappy with me too? Or is it that you…" she had to laugh preemptively at the notion. "Do you no longer find me attractive? Because we used to do things that required two engaged participants."

 _Oh…_ "No, Babe—that's not—look, I'm—I'm 60 years old."

"Yes…" Pam acknowledged like it was an odd thing to bring up. "And I'm 98. What's your point?"

"Pam…" Harley sat up as well. "Can you just, for a minute, try to understand what it's like to be with someone who literally has not aged a day since you met them? I have a lot of really awesome memories of us, and—I don't know, the point of growing old together is that you both start getting saggy at the same time. And then who cares? You're both old so it's all kosher. But now I just feel gross," _shouldn't have said that…_ "and it's a lot easier to forget when we're just looking at parts instead of—you know, the whole damn puzzle."

Pam sat there, silently listening until she was finished. And even after, it was clearly taking some time to make sense of what had just been said, or maybe she was trying to find a way forward. Regardless, she was quiet for long enough that it made Harley uncomfortable.

"I have memories of us together too," was how Pam finally broke the silence. "And in them, my skin is smooth rather than teaming with…" she trailed off to run her fingers down the vines in her thigh. "I have memories of us in my bed when that first house was just mine…and, umm, up against the wall in your apartment…in your chair, on the counter, in the car, in our bed, in our bed trying to be quiet so the kids could sleep, or—you know—pointedly not trying to be quiet that summer we sent them to Space Camp."

"Holy shit that was expensive," Harley remembered.

Pam had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. "So expensive," she agreed. "But, you know what all those moments made me realize?"

 _Something annoyingly sweet that's gonna make me want to make-out with you?_ "What?"

The redhead leaned forward until their lips were nearly touching to say: "I don't really like sex."

 _Uh—Whh…_ "33 years of having sex with me made you realize you don't like sex?" _Oh, yeah, that's not the most offensive fucking thing I've ever heard or anything._

"Yeah," Pam smiled, continuing her advance until Harley's head was laying at the foot of the bed, Pam over her. Her smile broadened after a languid roll of her hips. " _But_ I like sex with _you_."

 _OK, well…yeah, OK, fine._ Harley had to admit she found that enticing.

"And every time you speak negatively on your appearance, it admonishes my scientific achievement," Pam reminded her.

"Oh, so I'm a scientific achievement now, is that right?" Harley chuckled, running her fingers through Pam's hair until they trailed down her back.

"Well…only some parts," the redhead conceded, leaning down to rest her lips gently at the hollow of Harley's neck. "I have sex to be with you, not because I need it. I'm more plant than animal now, after all." She said more seriously. "But I do need _you_. So if you want to be with me, fantastic, but don't just do me a favor."

How this woman was ever a supervillain, Harley would never understand…OK, actually, she totally did understand, that's sorta the question Harley had spent most of her life answering at this point. But, uh, God, she loved her.

"OK," Harley whispered.

/

Jo lolled her head to the side, grabbing for her phone on the nightstand. 4:26am.

 _Damn it._

Without thinking of the time (or without caring), she opened up a blank message and typed quickly: **_U up?_**

The fact that there was a reply at all surprised her, let alone one that came so quickly.

 ** _-You spell?_**

Jo smiled at that. **_Sometimes. but y did they make words that sound like single letters if they didn't want us to write them that way?_**

 ** _-Yeah, Jo. I'm sure that's what the forefathers of the English language were thinking about when they conceived an entire lexicon: how to make texting easier in the future._**

 ** _-Or foremothers. U don't know, ya sexist pig._**

 ** _-Mom? That you?_**

Jo had to snicker at that.

Anthony followed up soon after with ** _: Weird how you follow capitalization and grammatical rules but can't be bothered to spell out "you" or "why". It's almost like you're doing it on purpose or something._**

 ** _Nonsense!_** Jo grinned as she sent the message. When he didn't reply, she asked ** _: Why are you still awake? I thought you couldn't come home this summer cuz u were working on your PhD or whatever_**

 ** _-"Or whatever", pfft. You're just pissed because you know I'm gonna make you call me "Dr. Quinzel"_**

"He better not," Jo mumbled as she typed. **_We already got one of those in the family. How about you figure out how to be an individual?_**

 ** _-You know that The Rock eye roll gif? OK, imagine I'm doing that_**

Jo had to take a moment to look that up…and it was definitely worth it. **_Impressive eyeball dexterity. Seriously, tho, y r u awake?_**

 ** _-…that was so dumb I'm almost embarrassed for you. But if you must know, I'm at some girl's apartment that I would really rather not be at, so…if anyone asks…you're really sick_**

Jo followed in The Rock's example and rolled her eyes _hard_. **_She cute?_**

 ** _-No, not really. And I can't exactly get drunk, so it's all so visceral_**

"What an asshole," Jo laughed. **_Need a call?_**

 ** _-Nah, I'll handle it. Be a man, and all._**

 ** _-aka, bite the bullet?_**

 ** _-We'll see ;)_**

"Uh—bleh!" Jo spat. **_No winky faces_**

 ** _-Fine ;)_**

She received another message before she could type one herself.

 ** _-Are you feeling better about everything?_**

Jo sighed, she was sort of hoping to avoid this conversation. They'd talked just after the trials and he'd sounded so sorry for her it bummed her out even worse. **_Oh, yeah. It's been a whole week. Totally over my crushed dreams and ready to move forward in life without a purpose._**

 ** _-Do you need a call?_**

 ** _No._** Jo sent that one quickly. **_I'm going to bed 3_**

 ** _-OK. If you're sure. 3_**

Jo tossed her phone back onto the nightstand, hearing it clatter on the wooden surface.

It was a pleasant night. Gotham summers were usually pretty decent aside from the occasional and super crappy humid heatwaves. Tonight wasn't so bad though…68 degrees, she probably wouldn't even need a jacket.

Pulling herself out of bed, she grabbed the pair of jeans she'd tossed on the floor the day before and yanked them on over her boy shorts before tying her hair up into a ponytail and exiting out the window. She stood on the roof for a second before climbing down the lattice into the backyard where she jumped a fence to get her off her parent's property.

Jo wasn't quite sure where she was headed, but she decided most anywhere was better than staying in bed for another minute.

Before she knew it, she was on a bus (using the loose change she'd found in her pocket), and then she was in South Gotham, starring at her gym from the parking lot.

 _Yeah, real fucking subtle, subconscious_.

The sun was beginning to rise now, and she was sure her parents would be pissed regardless, so…fuck 'em. Let 'em worry.

She plopped down on the curb to watch the sunrise over the building she usually spent around 8 hours a day in…but now had no reason to enter.

"Hey," a male voice shattered the tranquility of the moment. "I know you."

Jo jumped up and spun around to find… _ugh, this dickhead?_

"You're the girl who doesn't want a ride on my bike."

He was wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, his red t-shirt tight on his muscular chest and his dark hair styled like he was pretending not to care.

"And you're the douche who doesn't know how to take no for an answer." She hoped her tone communicated his need to fuck off.

"Yeah," the boy smiled. "Jason."

"I was told to stay away from boys with that name. Pleasure to meet you, though." Jo pushed passed him in the direction of the bus stop.

"Hey, hold up now," he jogged to catch her. "We were just getting acquainted!"

"Actually…no, we weren't." Jo snipped, tapping her foot impatiently where she stood hoping the bus would come soon.

"Alright," Jason chuckled. "I'll try the old fashioned way…nice thighs, I bet they'd look even better with—"

"Your head in between them?" Jo guessed.

"I was gonna say 'my dick', but sure." He laughed. "I'm not opposed to that first."

"Charming," Jo rolled her eyes. "You know—I didn't actually come here to be sexually harassed, so…"

"Alright, sorry, sorry," he sighed. "A little early for that, I get it. So why did you come here, then?"

 _Good question_. "It's…my gym." Was her mumbled response.

"Ah, a gymnast, I should have known." He smirked.

"What about you?" She asked…not that she was actually curious or anything, but it was better than being creepily leered at. "You don't exactly strike me as a morning person."

"Mmm…well…gotta make money somehow." He casually leaned against the bus stop.

"So you're, what? Prostituting yourself?" Jo guessed.

Jason laughed. "I'm a mechanic, but I don't mind a girl with a sense of humor."

"Noted," Jo nodded, cordially.

"Do your parents know you're out here?" he asked after a minute or so of silence.

"Do yours?" She shot back.

"Don't have any," he admitted. "But I've seen yours pick you up from school, and in some nice cars, too." When Jo didn't answer, he asked. "You need a ride home? It'll be quicker than the bus."

"Oh, umm…let me think. Should I get on a motorcycle with a strange boy who mentioned his dick 30 seconds into our first conversation? Yeah, sorry, Bud. I think I'm gonna wait it out." Jo sneered.

Jason just shrugged. "Suit yourself, I guess. It would make me late anyway, so…how about this…I'll leave you alone if you tell me your name. Or would you rather I keep calling you 'Legs'?"

Jo looked up to the sky, hoping for the rapture, but exhaled "Jolene" when it didn't come.

"See?" Jason crossed his arms, that smirk still playing on his lips. "Not so hard, huh?"


	40. Chapter 40

_Coffee…coffee…why does she put coffee in the fridge?_

Harley shook her head as she grabbed the bag and shut the refrigerator door, shoveling four big scoops into the coffee maker…she was probably the only one who was going to drink it now that Anthony was gone, but she hadn't relearned how to brew for one yet. Although, shit, it had been…what? 4 years now? Going on 5? She should probably get on that.

He'd be home soon, though…so…maybe she should hold off…but he won't want to move back in with his parents once he returned to Gotham. Why would he? _That's just weird, Harley._

 _And he won't be home soon. Just because it only took him 3 years to get his undergrad doesn't mean he'll be able to speed through a PhD too._

"Good morning…" Pam wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, placing a lingering kiss just below her ear.

"Mornin'," Harley smiled, watching the coffee fill the pot drip by drip.

"So…" she could tell Pam was smiling too. "That wasn't so terrible last night, was it?"

"Actually," Harley sighed as she turned around in her arms, leaning back against the counter as Pam moved her hands forward to bracket her hips. "Yeah, OK, it was pretty fun."

"Fun?" Pam raised an impeccably groomed eyebrow.

"Dynamo," Harley corrected with a giggle. "Pamela Isley: sexual dynamo."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "You make things gross so quickly."

Harley shrugged, a broad grin on her face. "What can I say? It's my superpower."

"That's…unfortunate," Pam hoisted her up onto the counter.

"Pam! What are you—Jo's home!" Harley exclaimed, nervously glancing up the stairs.

"Jo's asleep," her wife reminded her, muffling any further protests with a kiss.

"Mm—Pmm—Pam," Harley pulled away, panting. "What's gotten into you?" she laughed. "Did you poison yourself with your own sex pollen?"

"No…" Pam pulled the tie off of Harley's robe. "I'm just unfulfilled in other areas of my life…" she said it so salaciously that Harley was pretty sure she'd need to change her panties.

 _But—hey, wait! That wasn't sexy!_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Harley placed a hand on Pam's chest to stop her. "I think we should probably unpack that."

Pam took 'no' for an answer, backing up slightly and watching her expectantly.

"I feel like I'm getting some mixed signals here," Harley began. "Because…last night you prefaced us having sex by saying you didn't like sex, and now it's 8am and you started to initiate kitchen sex like I was 35 again and we didn't have a teenager sleeping upstairs, so…what gives? Cuz, sure, it's hot and everything, but it's also super confusing?"

Pam cocked her head. "Is that a question or a statement?"

"Uhh—a statement." Harley decided.

 _OK…_ Harley thought, _Jo's not talking to her so she's—actually, ya know what? Let's try it this way:_ "Usually I would do this stuff in my head," Harley admitted. "But maybe you could help me out with this one. You're feeling sad about the thing with Jo…you're feeling…disconnected, maybe. One of our kids is out of the house, the other won't talk to you, so…you're seeking comfort from me because you feel like I'm the only member of this family that hasn't abandoned you?"

"I—Anthony—Anthony didn't abandon me!" Pam stammered, lifting her hands away from the counter, her body language turning defensive.

"Oh, yeah, sure. I know that," Harley acknowledged. "Your rational mind knows that, but emotionally you're feeling a bit cut off. I get it." She shrugged. "And intimacy is comforting. It reaffirms I'm yours, that I'm not leaving, so…do you actually want to have sex right now or do you just want a hug? Because, honestly, I'm down for either, but if you don't actually want sex I don't want you to try and compensate with it, especially given your history with sexual abuse. I don't want to cross any wires."

Pam seemed to be at a relative loss for words. "W—,"

At that moment, Jo walked in through the kitchen door—fully dressed in jeans and a V-neck t-shirt, her cheeks rosy like she'd been walking at a brisk pace. "Hey," she mumbled, heading straight for the stairs.

 _Huh?_ "Umm…no, excuse me!" Harley stopped her. "Why weren't you in bed?"

"Because the sun is up," Jo pointed to the window. "Why is your robe untied? Why didn't Pamela ask me your first question?"

"You're familiar with human anatomy," Harley huffed, cinching her robe tightly closed.

"Eh, not really," Jo shrugged. "I'd probably have to be human to like, totally 'get it'."

Someone seemed to have switched Pam back on because she moved her focus from Harley to Jo and asked: "Where were you?"

"I went on a run," Was Jo's answer.

Harley put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "In jeans?"

"Thought I'd switch it up," Jo informed them, continuing past them now towards the stairs.

"When did you leave?" Pam asked, following her to the foot of the stairs. "How far did you run? Because I was up at 5:30 and never saw you."

Jo turned back around with sigh. "I don't know what to tell you guys."

"Well the truth would be awesome," Harley came to join Pam at the bottom of the stairs. "Sorta what we were asking for in the first place."

Jo seemed to be at somewhat of a choice point. Harley could see some trepidation on her face before she crossed her arms, leaning a shoulder against the stairs to say: "I was meeting someone."

"I'm sorry?" Pam looked surprised.

"Yeah," Jo decided, nodding. "Yeah, I was meeting a boy—a guy."

"A friend?" Harley tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Jo laughed at that notion. "No. Just some guy I've been seeing."

" _Seeing_?" Pam repeated the word, seemingly horrified. "What happened to gymnastics being the only relationship in your life?"

"Umm…ya fucking ripped it out of my chest like my still beating heart."

Harley wasn't sure if Pam meant to roll her eyes, but she definitely did…and it definitely didn't help.

"Who is he?" Harley asked, trying to find a way to calm the situation before Jo blew her top.

"You don't know 'im." Jo spat.

"OK, well…how about a fucking name, then?" Harley demanded, losing her patience.

"Oh, ya know, ironically…" Jo laughed with noticeable cruelty. "It's also the name of Mom's first boyfriend."

Pam looked confused…but Harley knew where she was going with this.

"It's 'Jason'," the girl said. "Aww, Mom! We finally have something in common!"

Harley wasn't sure what she was expecting Pam's reaction to be… _straight to anger, maybe?_ …and it was clear Pam herself didn't quite know how to react either because she just looked legitimately shocked. And then, for a moment, she seemed like she might cry, her green eyes wide as they stared up at her daughter, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

"J—," Pam began, but was unable to finish. "Y—,"

Harley was surprised Jo was still standing there. She'd expected her to mic-drop and leave…but no…she was still watching Pam intently, her nearly identical green eyes betraying something Harley recognized as concern.

"Y—you've seen what he did to me, from my perspective, you've—s—seen it." Now Pam was blatantly holding back tears, her shaky voice betraying her emotions. "And you st—you still? You must be very angry with me…"

"Pam…" Harley started to reach out a hand, but the redhead moved further away, nodding as she did.

"No, it's alright," she wiped her eyes, although her tears had yet to actually fall. "Perhaps you could be a psychiatrist, Jolene. You," she cleared her throat. "You knew just what to say. I'm sure you must be very proud, Harleen."

"Pamela, stop. She's just angry," Harley soothed. "She's just lashing out."

"Yes, I understand." Pam painted on a forced smile. "And I can—I can take it because I'm the adult. I'm the parent and I am well-adjusted. I am a hero."

"Mom…" Jo descended a step, her shoulders heavy and her eyes watery, 'I'm sorry' written all over her face.

But Pam just shook her head, backing up a few more feet until she bumped into a wall. Her reaction to that (unlike to Jo's comment) was instantaneous. She turned and punched through it, leaving a fist-sized hole in the drywall.

"Pam!" Harley shouted, honestly not sure if she should be angry about the wall, afraid of her violent reaction or worried about her hand.

The redhead laughed as she yanked her arm out of the hole. "I think I broke this." She held her hand out in front of her.

"Jolene, go to your room," Harley said quickly.

"But, Ma," Jo was crying now. "Ma, I didn't mean it."

"I said go to your room!" Harley yelled, pointing up the stairs until Jo ran that direction, disappearing from sight and slamming her bedroom door.

"Shoddy craftsmanship," Pam was mumbling, examining the hole in the wall.

/

"The goal, as John McCarthy so eloquently put it, is to create machines that behave in ways that would be intelligent if a human were so behaving, or to make them perform tasks that would require intelligence if done by men. That's the basis of an AI—the bare minimum. In order to pass the Turing test, your AI must not just present as being capable of intelligence, but as being capable of human intelligence. Here we'll be looking at how the microcosms of human expression contribute to the perceptions of humanity. Reactionary—yes," Dr. Beecher interrupted herself. "Mr. Quinzel, go ahead."

"I've always found humanity to be a bit overrated, honestly." Anthony lowered his hand. "In a world with all knowing extraterrestrials, animal or plant hybrids with PhDs, and fully functioning human cyborgs, who cares about the microcosms of human expression? Why do we want to create robots in our image? Why do we want them to pass as human? To help us feel comfortable? Because—I don't know if any of you have seen Ex Machina—but there was nothing comfortable about that experience."

That comment drew a few snickers and Dr. Beecher sighed. "What's your point, Mr. Quinzel?"

"My point is that we waste a lot time trying to get robots to smile. Time that could be better spent incorporating alien intelligence, or drawing from other species' technological or intellectual advancements. Of course, that would mean accepting humans might have something to learn. That maybe there are some areas—a lot of areas, actually—where we're inferior." Anthony finished.

Dr. Beecher rolled her eyes. "This isn't AI Ethics, Mr. Quinzel. This is Appearance Engineering, and if you're so concerned with wasting time, why do you waste yours here?"

"I come for the view," he grinned.

"And to interrupt lectures with lectures?" She raised an eyebrow.

"That too."

"Yeah, I get paid for mine, you know." The doctor shook her head, drawing a few more snickers as she smirked and turned back to her digital model.

Anthony made his way down the steps towards her after she'd released the class, slinging his book bag over his shoulder as he went.

"Didn't your Mommy ever teach you that's not a nice way to get a lady's attention?" Dr. Beecher asked, rhetorically, shutting down the simulator.

"She sure did," he smiled. "And that's why I came down to apologize. I shouldn't have drawn attention to your looks, it wasn't my intention to undermine your authority or intelligence in front of your class."

"Oh…" she furrowed her brow at what Anthony assumed was a wholly original pick-up line. "I thought you were going to hit on me again."

"Well, sure, that was next. But I needed to get that other bit out of the way first," he admitted, biting his lip in what he hoped would come off as bashfulness. After running a quick hand through his hair and then pursing his lips, he realized he'd burned through his entire arsenal in the span of about 8 seconds. _Way to go, dude._ "Can we start over? Like…maybe over dinner?"

Dr. Beecher looked like she was attempting to starve off a smile, but forfeited in the end, smirking as she said: "I don't date students."

"It's a good thing I'm not your student, then," Anthony smiled, leaning against the display table. "I really do just come to listen to you."

"And look?" she wondered.

His smile took on a slyer quality. "And look."

It took her a moment to calculate, but she narrowed her eyes at him then. "You've been sitting in the last 4 weeks. You seriously want to tell me you wasted 16 hours of your time listening to me drone on about this stuff just to be in my presence?"

"Well, my Mama taught me only to waste time on things that were worth my while." Anthony told her. "Because…if you're enjoying yourself, where's the waste?"

"Is that right?" she chuckled, crossing her arms. "So then what did your daddy teach you? Entitlement? Because, in my experience, the only kids that can afford to mess around in a class they're not taking are the ones whose daddy's are paying their way."

"Ah—see, I don't have one of those, so…it's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Beecher, I'm the exception," Anthony offered his hand.

"Karen," she amended, shaking it.

"Karen," he repeated, smiling. "I'm Anthony." It felt good to finally be on a first name basis. "So what do you say? Dinner?"

"Won't that interfere with…" she gave him a thorough look over, "Crew practice or something?"

"Ah, come on now, no need to resort to ugly stereotypes," he smirked.

"Ugh," Karen sighed, looking like she thought she should know better. "Alright—look, I'm—," she cleared her throat, shifting to a more confident stance. "I'm recently divorced and I'm really not looking to get into anything right now…"

"But? I'm sensing a but." Anthony tried not to come across too hopeful.

"But…you're cute and look like you could slam me against a wall and help me forget that I'm 32 and already divorced for an hour or two," she decided. "So, sure. Take me to dinner, just don't come to my class anymore."

Anthony stepped off of campus in a relative daze, having been deep in through since he left Dr. Beecher's—Karen's—classroom. When he'd made it a safe distance, he plopped down rather unceremoniously on a wooden bench. And after sitting in reflective silence for a moment, pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his khakis and quickly dialed a number, sitting back as he switched it to a video call.

He smiled, relieved, when she answered on the 4th ring. "Hey, Mom…"

Pam was in her greenhouse, naturally, her arm preoccupied off camera and her body oddly close to the phone. "Anthony, hi," she greeted quickly. "I'm sorry, I know the point of this is to mimic a face to face conversation, I was just a bit preoccupied before you called. Just give me a moment to readjust."

His Mother's awkwardness reminded him of home…and that helped to alleviate some of the tension in his shoulders.

He waited patiently as Pam fumbled with the phone, finally finding a place to set it where she could fit into frame, but when she finally settled somewhere, Anthony squinted at the full image. "What are you doing?" He asked, referring to her right arm which was submerged in what Anthony recognized as her transparent incubation tank, the one she used to speed the growth of aquatic plant organisms.

"I've set the bones in my hand, I am now attempting to repair them," she replied, nonchalantly, copying some readout from the digital display into the notebook that sat on her left.

"Did you break it?" He asked, confused. "How?"

"I redirected my anger at your sister into the wall," she informed him, calmly. "Because I was in pain I decided to prioritize this over the necessary construction. I suppose I'll need to call a contractor…"

"Wait—you punched through a wall?" Anthony tried to pull her back in before she got distracted. "What did Jo do?"

Pam just shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You look upset." She rerouted the conversation. "Why are you calling at noon on a Wednesday?"

"Oh, umm…it doesn't matter, really. Doesn't seem all that important anymore." Anthony was apologetic. "I just talked to Jo last night and she seemed—I mean—she seemed sad, but—,"

"—I don't want to talk about her right now," Pam snapped, before quickly softening. "Please, Darling, I'm so happy you called. How are you?"

"I'm fine," he suddenly felt a bit self-conscious.

Pam wasn't sold. "You don't look fine, you look lost."

 _Ugh, maybe this was a mistake_. "There's this girl…"

"Is she under the age of 18?" Pam asked, an eyebrow raised in judgment.

"God, no, she's like 12 years older than me."

"Then she is a woman," Pam corrected. "Anyway, go on."

"Well, I…" Anthony swallowed. "I think she's pretty great. She's smart and pretty just really passionate about her work…"

"She sounds fantastic," Pam offered, not seeing the problem. "Have you asked her out?"

"I did."

"And…she said no?" Pam guessed.

"No, she said yes…but then she made it sound like she just wanted to use me for sex. Like she was only interested in me because I looked like I could 'slam her against a wall and help her forget about her ex-husband'."

Pam looked confused for a moment before her eyes lit up with a smile that she contained by biting her lip. "There's someone who wants to use you for sex because you're pretty?"

"Well, ye—," _Oh, goddamn it._ "Will I be receiving a 'honorary woman card' in the mail?" he sighed as realization dawned.

"No," she attempted to rein in her grin. "Anthony, Darling…I'm truly sorry she doesn't find you as interesting as you do her. And really, that's a ridiculous notion because you're fantastic. But although you are deserving of any woman on this planet, you are not entitled to any of them—their bodies or their hearts."

"So…" Anthony prompted, hoping there was more to this "pep talk".

"So take her out," Pam told him. "Be the wonderful, kind, charming man I know you are. Make your case to her, and if you are still uncomfortable with the arrangement she proposed, then say no and walk away."

"You make it sound so easy…" Anthony mumbled.

Her smile was kinder this time. "Much easier for a man to say 'no' than for a woman. She was clear in her intentions; you need to be clear in yours as well. And…if she's still not interested in anything more: consolation prize-You get to continue living as a white male."

"A handsome, healthy, wealthy white male," he amended, feeling an almost painful pang of homesickness as he stared at his Mother through a phone screen, very much wishing he could break the divide to give her a hug.

"Lucky you," she smirked, shutting the machine off and pulling her arm out of the gelatinous, green liquid.

Anthony knew it was silly to worry about an immortal meta-human, but how could he not? She was his Mom; he'd always worry about her. "OK, I showed you mine…now do you want to tell me what happened with Jo?"

"She's your Mother's daughter, that's all you need to know," she told him, curtly, grabbing a towel to wipe her arm off. "I'd very much like to chat longer, and I absolutely love hearing from you whenever you can spare a moment, you know that…but unfortunately, I'm late for work at this point."

"You all good there?" He questioned.

Pam held up her right hand, wiggling her fingers to illustrate. "Just like new."

/

Harley watched Pam exit the backyard through the gate, and then moved to the living room to watch her get into her car, leaving for The Watchtower without saying goodbye.

 _That's fine, nothing wrong with needing space…_ Harley reminded herself, and then, with a long, drawn-out sigh, she started up the stairs. _Someday one of these kids is gonna get pissed at me and Pam will have to console 'em._ It was odd how that thought excited her.

Harley didn't even knock before opening Jo's door. _Consider your personal space invaded_.

"Fuck off," Jo murmured, laying sprawled out and face down on her floor.

"No," Harley said, matter-of-factly, crossing her arms and standing her ground. "We obviously need to talk."

"I'm sorry, OK!" Jo turned and sat up, her face stained with tears. "I didn't know she'd get so mad!"

"Yes you did. Yes, you absolutely did." Harley countered. "That's why you said it."

"It's just a name!" Jo exclaimed.

Harley rolled her eyes. "You know that's not what made her angry. You called him her boyfriend, Jolene."

The girl ignored her, climbing up onto her bed to curl up with a pillow.

"How long have you been laying on the floor?" Harley asked.

"None'a'ya business," she mumbled, her voice muffled by a blanket she'd pulled up to her nose. "Just ground me for sneaking out or whatever and then leave me alone."

 _Ground her? How does that even work?_ "No," Harley decided after a moment's deliberation. "No, get up, you're coming with me."


	41. Chapter 41

Jo slammed the car door shut once she'd climbed angrily into the passenger seat.

That stupid Jason guy had turned her already not great mood worse, and then her Mom, pfft, she didn't care that she was having a hard time, or maybe she did, but Jo could tell she didn't respect her reasoning. Pam with her stupid eye rolls and her—and her stupid face! Her stupid perfect-for-eternity face. Of course she didn't care, of course she didn't understand…why would she?! She'd have three billion do-overs while Jo only had the one, and she'd wasted like 10 years of it going nowhere fast.

Harley got in too, turning the car on and pulling quickly out of the driveway.

"Where are we going?" Jo murmured.

"You gotta quit being a bitch to your Mom," Harley said, either not having heard the question or not caring. "It's alright to be pissed or not want to talk to her, that's understandable, but don't drag that shit into it, please. It's a privilege you even get to know."

"Why?" Jo asked, distracting herself by looking out the window. "It's not exactly a secret after your book, can't turn on the TV without seeing one of her 'no means no' PSAs."

"Jo—I can't get into this with you right now. If you had any idea how much work went into getting her to talk about that experience—Jesus—years, Jolene, years." Harley shook her head. "Look, I get it. It makes you feel powerful, being able to cut her down to size with just a word or a phrase. I've fallen into the same trap, more than once, actually, but we're supposed to improve in the next generation, so…do better than me, please, God…do better than me."

Jo didn't respond, just crossed her arms over her chest and mulled that over. _"Maybe you should be a psychiatrist, Jolene," Pam had said. "You must be so proud, Harleen."_ Jo narrowed her eyes at the passing houses. She couldn't remember ever seeing her parents fight, not really anyway. They snipped at each other sometimes, sure…but Jo had never even considered that they might have actual problems…aside from the fact that one of them was aging while the other one was staying put.

"You want to know why I wasn't an Olympic gymnast?" Harleen asked, interrupting the silence as Jo had yet to speak on her last point. "It's because I fucked my coach and got booted by the ethics committee," she turned up a familiar road. "So…at the very least, you get to live the rest of your life knowing that while it was unfair, there's nothing you could have done differently. There's nothing for you to lament or kick yourself over. You have been given the golden opportunity to blame Mom for the rest of your life, if you want, or me too—I guess—for not telling you there was a problem. But, lucky you, you don't have to hate yourself."

Jo was confused, both by what Harley was saying and the fact that they were about to pull up to the gate at Wayne Manor. She decided to prioritize the former. "What do you mean you…wait, your coach? How old was he?"

"Twice my age and married," was Harleys curt response. "He was a piece of shit and a total pig, and I blamed only myself for a long time until I met your Mom and she reminded me the importance of the power dynamics in a statutory rape case, even if the minor considers themselves a willing participant—they are not and I was not. But anyway…" she sighed. "Years later, back when I was still your Mom's doctor, I tracked him down and bashed his head in with a hammer. So…all's well that ends well," she shrugged, rolling down her window.

 _Whh—ahh—sh—huh?_

"Hey, what's good, Dr. Q?" Jo heard Carrie Kelley's voice blast out of the intercom.

"Is Selina upstairs?" Harley asked.

"Yeah."

"And Bruce?" was Harley's next question.

"He's at that ribbon cutting ceremony downtown," Carrie reminded her. "Should be back around 5."

Harley sighed, a bit put-out, evidently. "Alright, that's fine. Can you buzz us in and page Selina? We're going downstairs."

"Who's we?" Carrie questioned.

"It's bring your daughter to work day."

 _Wait, does that mean what I think it means? Wait, Ma murdered someone too?_

There was a lot to process as the gate opened and Harley pulled through, turning a quick left rather than continuing up to the manor as usual.

"So after the hearing, I was banned from Olympic competition in the future, while my coach was promoted—but that's another story for another time," Harley continued on like she'd never been interrupted. "Of course, I went on to compete at the collegiate level, which really isn't an option for you, unfortunately, but even then I just felt really lost. Like you, I'd spent a lot of my life hyper-focused on a certain goal only to have it taken away from just as I was about to cross the finish line…and I was so fricken pissed and rudderless that I started sleeping around a lot…not that there's anything wrong with that, you do you, I sure as shit did me…but I obviously wasn't in a great place."

They came around the bend to a pond, and instead of rerouting, Harley sped straight ahead, aiming straight for the water!

Jo covered her eyes and braced for impact, pretty sure Harley was in the middle of a mental breakdown at this point

…but there was no impact, just a slight change in terrain, and when Jo opened her eyes once more she found they were descending into darkness, lights flickering on up ahead, illuminating the tunnel.

"So I went to med school, and that kept me pretty preoccupied. Graduated near the top of my class..." Harley picked up where she'd left off. "It's stupid to talk about it in comparison to your Mom, but just for the record, I've got a genius IQ too. I just apply it differently or don't apply it at all sometimes because, you know what? Sometimes it's a lot easier to be stupid. There's a lesson you can take to the bank. Your Mom never figured out how to do that, and so she's turned on all the time, and when you're always awake and demand to see everything, you're bound to be unhappy because this world can really fucking suck sometimes. Ignorance truly is bliss."

The hallway opened up into a…well, a cave would be the only way to describe it. It was cavernous, the walls made of stone but the furnishings metal.

"Holy shit," Jo breathed. "Ma, this is the…this is the…"

"After medical school I started to feel lost again," Harley screeched to a halt on a platform lit with a spotlight…right next to the Batmobile! "And that's when I found your Mom, and that's when I found Bruce…and thank God I did," she shut the car off. "Because there are other versions of me out there who evidently didn't fare quite as well."

"Other—wait, other versions?" Jo was long passed perplexed at this point.

"Sure," Harleen smiled. "Harley Quinn, please ta meet'cha." She used a Gotham accent and stuck out her hand in an exaggerated, almost childish movement.

"H—y—you mean like from that cartoon I used to watch?" Jo questioned, ignoring her outstretched hand. "You're Harley Quinn?"

"No," Harley laughed. "I'm thankful every day for that. Met one once—think she may have been a shittier girlfriend than I am a wife, which—you know—props." She got out of the car, implying Jo should do the same, so the girl scurried out after her.

"See, round these parts," Harleen started at a brisk pace down the stairs off the platform to where Selina was standing, waiting expectantly. "I'm Batwoman. Well…the retired Batwoman."

"W—wait, what do you mean?" Jo descended the steps after her, jumping the last three to speed the process. "I mean I know you're like the team psychiatrist, but—,"

"—she's also the matriarch," Selina informed, her arms crossed, her gaze cold. "What's up, Jo? Heard you were a bit of a bitch to your Mom."

"Ma, you told her?!" Jo had no idea why she felt so violated…maybe it had something to do with the fact that Selina's eyes were so intense she was expecting lasers to shoot out of them or something.

"She sure did," Selina's smirk was a bit cruel. "And see…in my book…I'm the only one that gets to be a bitch to Pam, so, do you see where we're at odds here?"

"I, umm—I do, yes," Jo stared down at her feet.

"This family gave me a purpose when I had none," Harley told her. "And right now you're flailing, I can see that. You need an outlet. So here it is," she spread her arms wide. "Welcome to the team, Batgirl."

"I'm going to get you some training clothes," Selina piggy-backed, "and then Carrie's going to punch you in the face until Pam's the mommy you want to run to." How she could be 65 years old and still intimidating, Jo had no idea. "Sound good?"

/

"Uhh—I don't know about this, Dr. Q," Carrie said, looking Jo over uneasily. "Usually Mr. Wayne puts us on the bags for a couple of sessions before we actually spar…"

"Mr. Wayne isn't here right now," Harley reminded her. "And Jo knows what she's doing. No need to take it easy on her."

"Well, alright, I guess." Carrie still sounded rather unsure as she stripped off her sweatshirt, leaving her in a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top. "You ready to go, Jo?"

Jo maintained her giddy smile as she nodded. "Definitely."

Carrie moved quickly after that, sprinting towards her and then dropping to the ground at the last moment to slide through her legs, popping up at Jo's back and grabbing her around the back of the neck, using momentum to twist her down to the ground. Carrie may have been the weakest Robin, but what she lacked in size and strength she made up for in intelligence and energy. Girl had a motor that just wouldn't quit.

Jo lay face down on the mat for a moment, clearly trying to figure out where to go from there when Carrie had her arms pinned behind her back. She bent her leg at the knee, kicking Carrie just below the shoulder blade with her heel. The redhead winced and Jo was able to use that moment's weakness to wrench her hands free and roll over so Carrie was straddling her waist rather than the small of her back.

But that exposed her, and just like Selina promised, Carrie punched her in the face.

"Oww…fuck…" Jo groaned, holding her nose.

Harley's heart began to beat faster. _Is she OK? Is this too much? Is she too young?_ "Do you need a break, Jo?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as worried as she felt.

"No, uh—," Jo flexed at her hips, lifting her legs and clamping them in a vice grip around Carrie's neck before thrusting them back down, bringing Carrie with them.

"Hey, that's one of my moves!" Selina clapped happily.

But as Jo smiled proudly, Carrie kicked with both of her legs, landing them squarely in the center of Jo's chest and shoving her a good two feet backwards.

Jo wheezed, fighting for the wind that had been knocked out of her, and Harley sighed. _This is going to be a long day._

/

Pamela had been sitting in the driveway for a while at this point, starring at dark house.

Harley was likely still at the Batcave, or maybe she went to pick up dinner…either way, Jo's light was off too meaning she was probably out as well.

Pam had spent a lot of time in her life coming home to empty houses…and she'd preferred it that way. Enjoyed her solidarity. All she required was her plants, and they'd always been there for her, waiting to be watered or repotted…

But now seeing those darkened windows made her feel empty, lonely…she knew they'd be back, but maybe Harley was right, maybe she was feeling a bit abandoned lately.

She was familiar with Empty Nest Syndrome, she'd read up on it before Anthony left for Stanford, but although she missed him terribly and got nervous when he didn't give them an update on his wellbeing, she'd still had Jo and Harley. And she still had them now! She hadn't lost them…Jo was just—she was just being a teenager. Acting like a typical, expressive adolescent. The fact that she felt comfortable enough to be angry with Pam was a compliment to her parenting. She couldn't even conceive of a world in which she would be able to raise her voice at her parents, and look at how that turned out. She'd bottled everything up so tight inside that she eventually just burst and took joy in watching the life drain from their eyes. OK, maybe not joy, but amusement, certainly. She and Jo's relationship was different, it was open and affectionate, typically.

Pam thought back to the days when Jo would run out of the house to greet her in the evenings, a million questions on her mind that only Pam could answer. Maybe she wasn't that little girl anymore. Maybe her grievances were real now, her problems legitimate…but at the end of the day she'd always be the baby Pam couldn't rock to sleep at night. She'd cry and fight and kick, but she'd eventually tire herself out, wouldn't she?

And even when Jo left Pam would still have Harley…for a little while, anyway.

She was still lost in her thoughts when a pair of headlights bobbed up the driveway behind her, the car coming to a stop next to her.

Jo pulled herself out of the passenger seat, noticeably wincing as she did, and limped up the driveway to the front steps.

Pam watched her as she went, but made no move to follow, so Harley came around and knocked on her window, which she rolled down.

"Hey," Harley said, the traces of a smile on her face. "Did you just get home?"

"No," Pam replied, watching Jo open the front door and disappear inside.

"…then what are you doing out here?"

Pam just shrugged, turning to give her wife a chaste kiss before rolling the window back up and opening the door. "How was your day?" she asked as she locked the car.

"Well…" Harley took a deep breath and interlaced their fingers, stopping Pam's forward momentum. "It was sort of—significant."

"Significant," Pam repeated the word slower, trying to understand its meaning. "How so?"

Harley bit the inside of her cheek, evidently gathering some courage before saying: "I got Jo outfitted for her Batgirl suit."

"I'm sorry?"

"I took her to the Batcave…she had her first training session…and her suit should be ready by next week," Harley reiterated. "She, umm…she chose green."

"What does that mean?"

"Well every Batgirl has sort of had their own color," she explained. "Mine was blue, Babs' was gold, Steph's was purple, Cass' is black and…now Jo's will be green."

"You turned our daughter into a vigilante without consulting me first?" Pam asked.

Harley sighed. "Yes, Pam, I did. It will give her some purpose and direction and hopefully fill in that life's-passion sized hole we left in her."

"So…" Pam furrowed her brow. "You thought that warranted turning our 15-year-old daughter loose on the streets of Gotham City in hopes that she can help lower the astronomical crime rate?"

"Hey!" Harley protested, looking offended. "I worked my ass off to get that thing down. Gotham's safer now than ever before."

"Well congratulations," Pam offered. "But Jolene is a child, and she's not invincible, and not immortal. One stray bullet, one mistimed jump and our daughter is dead. Is that what you want? Is that worth her momentary unhappiness?"

"Pamela," Harley rolled her eyes, tearing her hand away. "She was born into this. It's inevitable. She's been waiting for this day since she was like 3 years old. If you want to get back in her good graces, you're going to have to support her here. She's excited and she chose that fucking color as a way of reaching out to you. Don't smack down an olive branch."

"I'm not—Harleen, this has nothing to do with Jo," Pam retorted. "I am upset with _you_. You just—did all this without consulting me? Not even a fucking phone call?"

"Goddamn it, Pam, I did what I did! It's done now." Harley shot back. "You knew this was coming, and she is ready, whether or not you are is another question entirely that's honestly a lot less important."

/

Jolene discarded her sweaty sports bra, tossing it to the side of the tub before stripping off her spandex as well and gingerly easing herself into the warm water.

"Fuck…" she exhaled, leaning her head back.

She was used to getting beat up by gymnastics, but it turned out actually getting beat up by a human being hurt a bit worse.

Her phone vibrated on the counter and she stretched for all she was worth to grab it, feeling like she'd scored a major victory when it was finally in her grasp.

 **Carrie: Im so sorry! just wanna make that clear. only did it cuz your mom and cat were on my case**

Jo smiled. **Don't worry about it. Is your ankle ok btw? Think I mighta over did it in that last round. I just wanted to get you on your back**

 **Carrie: is that what he said or what she said?**

Jo snickered as she typed her response. **Let's go with "they" ;)**

 _Winky face a bit much?_

She was waiting for Carrie's reply when she heard a somewhat timid knock on the door. "I'm in the bath," Jo called out. "Give me a minute."

…but they didn't, they just pushed open the door anyway.

 _And *sigh* it was Pam._

"Mom! What the hell, dude? I'm naked."

"And I created you in a lab," Pam reminded her. "Nothing I haven't seen before." She set a bottle of clear liquid down on the edge of the tub. "That will help with your muscle fatigue and lactic acid buildup."

Jo narrowed her eyes. "How about you just call it 'soreness'."

"How about you don't dictate my vocabulary." Pam countered with a suggestion of her own.

"Well…thanks," Jo mumbled, grabbing the bottle and dumping it in its entirety into the bathwater.

"You only needed about a tablespoon."

"I guess that's why warning labels were invented," Jo shrugged. "Is it gonna kill me?"

"No."

"Good." Jo cleared her throat. "How's your hand?"

Pam glanced down and flexed her fingers. "Some la—some soreness," she admitted. "But it's functional."

Jo nodded solemnly. "That's good…so, I guess Ma told you?"

Pam smoothed her hands down her sides in a show of discomfort. "She did…I—I understand you chose green as your highlight color. That's—,"

"—it brings out my eyes," Jo quickly interrupted. "It the best color on me." _No, I did it for you._

"O—oh," Pam deflated slightly in disappointment. "Yes, well, it certainly does look lovely on you, but then again I think you look lovely in just about anything."

"You're my Mom," Jo reminded her. "You have to say that. It's hardwired."

"Right," Pam painted on a smile. "Well, that doesn't make it not true."

Jo shifted in the tub, covering herself a little lazier now. "Is it weird that your kid is gonna be Batgirl? You know, since you used to be a Batman villain and all."

"No," Pam shook her head. "I made my peace with that long ago. My concern is for your wellbeing." Then she cleared her throat, pulling something out of her back pocket and coming to sit on the side of the tub.

It was a photo, one of Jo at what she guessed was maybe 4 or 5? Standing by the Christmas tree in the greenhouse wearing that old Batgirl leotard.

"I have a copy of this in my locker up at The Watchtower," Pam told her. "It's to remind me why I'm a hero now. What I fight for—girls who believe they can be anything and my family. You happen to be both," she smiled, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. "I am honored to have raised such an empowered young woman."

Jo blushed, turning away in the hope that her Mom wouldn't notice. "Are you—uh—are you still mad at me about this morning?"

"Absolutely livid," Pam assured her, patting her on the head as she got up. "But you apologized, and I'm going to choose to believe you were sincere. When you're done up here, come out to the greenhouse and I'll help you get rid of that black eye."

Jo smiled despite herself. "Alright."

"Oh," Pam stopped in the doorway. "And you have leukemia, by the way. I'll compose a statement for you to send out on your twitter account tonight."


	42. Chapter 42

**Author's note: While obviously not the best chapter I've ever written...it did successfully distract me from the real world insanity of the day. Perhaps it can do the same for you, perhaps not, but either way...happy Hunger Game** s!

Anthony adjusted his tie one last time before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

 _I got this._

"Hey…" he smiled when Karen opened the door, trailing off when he got a more complete look at her short, yellow dress. "You look fantastic…Summer personified." He amended.

She smirked, arching an eyebrow. "Those for me?"

"Oh—yes," he suddenly remembered the potted lilies he was holding and offered them to her.

She took them, studying them closely as she did. "You know…I think usually guys just get like a bouquet or something."

"Well sure, but then what?" Anthony prompted. "You just throw them out after a few days? As long as you water them, these guys will keep you company for a while." He smiled.

"Why lilies?" She asked.

He shrugged, "they just spoke to me."

"Alright," Karen chuckled. "Um—do you want to come in for a bit?"

 _Yes._

 _No._

Anthony glanced down at his watch. "I think we should probably get going. I'd rather not miss our reservation."

"Reservation?" Karen asked, looking mildly impressed. "I sort of thought it would be a food cart kind of evening."

He gave her a pointed look over, grinning as he did. "A bit over-dressed for tacos, now aren't you?" and then, before she could feel self-conscious he continued with: "I certainly am," he gestured down to his steel blue three-piece suit.

"Yeah, Jesus, I was about to ask if you were hot," Karen looked worried for a moment.

"Mmm…I usually let women decide that for themselves," he offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Karen snorted at that, calling out "That was cheap!" as she quickly disappeared inside to set the flowers down on the counter before rejoining him in the hallway. "And I think I can make it to the elevator just fine on my own, thanks."

/

"Holy shit!" Jo spun around, admiring herself. "I look so fricken hot!"

"OK," Bruce narrowed his eyes. "But you understand that's not the point of it, yes?"

"Well sure," Jo giggled. "But…it's definitely a perk!" She jumped up into the air to kick and then landed in a pirouette. "What'cha think, Ma?"

Harley sighed. "I think you look…older."

"Yeah, but do I look like a badass?" Jo wanted to know, watching Harley expectantly through the slits of her cowl."

Harley jutted her jaw to the side, narrowing her eyes slightly and tilting her head. "Mmm...yeah, total badass," her smile was wide and proud.

"The technology is similar to what I came up with for Ivy's first suit, before her mutation. These," Bruce indicated the glowing green panels that ran from Jolene's wrist, down the underside of her arms and sides, joining around the waist and then continuing down her thighs until they tapered off at the knee. "—contain patented solar technology. While you don't actually have any control over plant life, I've been informed that sunlight does aid your body's naturally accelerated healing mechanisms. This suit will help amplify those abilities."

"Ha! Respawn!" Jo exclaimed excitedly. "You really went above and beyond, Uncle Bruce. Seriously. This thing is awesome."

"Well we'll see if it holds up tonight," He said. "It's been more difficult to budget our manpower since Barbara left, but I'd like you with Damian for your first outing."

"You got it, boss," Jo saluted him.

/

"Please don't tell me you bought that suit just for me," Karen said once they were seated at their table.

"What?" Anthony chuckled. "A man can't own a nice suit?"

"Well, now I'm curious," she sat back, amused. "The clothes, and the restaurant, and the car you drove us over here in…what do your parents do? Or are they dead and you're living off the inheritance?"

"Actually…" he took a sip of his water, wishing with every fiber of his being he didn't have to spin this BS cover story again. "Only one of them is dead, so, I guess that counts?" He paused when he saw the waiter approaching, catching a glimpse of Karen's deeply apologetic expression.

"Good evening," the man smiled. "Have you had a chance to look over our wine list yet?"

"We'll take a bottle of whatever the lady would like," Anthony informed him.

After a moment's deliberation, Karen looked up at the waiter to say, simply: "Something red," before smiling politely at him, implying in the kindest way possible that he should leave them alone for a bit. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea…" She turned her attention back to Anthony once the waiter was out of earshot. "When you said you didn't have a father I just assumed—,"

"—oh, no, I never had one of those," He assured her. "My parents are gay—well, OK, my Ma is bi and my biological Mother was gay—I think—if we want to get technical, as is my stepmother." Karen's brow was furrowed in confusion and Anthony could tell he was talking a bit fast. _Fuck_. "I was raised by two women, is my point. Sorry for the run around."

"Got it," Karen nodded slowly, "Sounds a bit…complicated."

"Not really, no. I was only 6 when Mom died, Ma remarried quickly…but you don't care about all that, I'm just here to help you forget about your ex-husband." Anthony reminded her.

"Well you're buying me dinner, you dressed up…" Karen cleared her throat, her gaze moving to her lap. "Thought I'd at least get the basics down."

Anthony shifted in his chair, his stomach turning at the realization that he'd made her uncomfortable. "Ma is a psychiatrist and best-selling author," he offered up the information as consolation. "And my step-mother has her PhD in botanical engineering. Both are retired now, but yes— _my_ PhD is paid for."

"Oh," Karen sounded a bit more interested now, once again smiling politely at the waiter as he filled her glass with wine and then exited the scene. "They sound fascinating," she took a sip before setting her glass down and clearing her throat. "OK, I'm just going to level with you here—I haven't been on a date since my divorce and my ex-husband and I met in High School, so…to say I'm rusty is an insane understatement."

"That's perfectly alright," Anthony laughed, relieved he wasn't the only one that felt they could improve here. "What was he like?"

"Who?"

"Your ex-husband."

"Oh, right," Karen took another sip of wine. "Mal is…a man of principal."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "That all?"

"All I want to share right now, yeah." She answered, curtly.

/

"So we just…what? Drive around until we spot trouble?"

Damian rolled his eyes beneath his cowl. "This isn't the Mystery Gang, Jolene. We patrol while Carrie sits at the monitor back at the cave."

"Got it," Jo nodded ardently. "So, if Carrie spots trouble, she points us in the right direction."

"Will you stop saying 'spots trouble'? It sounds ridiculous."

"Sorta like dressing up like a bat and jumping off buildings, huh?" Jo snickered.

"I'm sorry, are you blind?" he pulled down the visor in front of her and poked his finger into the bat-symbol on her chest.

"Yeesh, alright, you're sensitive, I get it," she pushed his hand away. "Want to make daddy proud and whatnot."

"I don't do this for Bruce!" he caviled.

"Bleh," Jo spat in mock-disgust. "Keep your daddy issues on your side of the car, please and thank you. But hey, quick question—since you're like B-man's clone or whatever, does that mean your dicks are the same size or do you still have to measure them?"

"You're pushing it, Kid," Damian said through clenched teeth. "There's a reason I work alone."

"Because your people skills are pretty weak?" Jo guessed.

Damian suddenly wrenched the wheel towards her, causing Jo's head to smack against her window thanks to the abrupt change in direction.

"Hey!" Jo complained.

Damian smirked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

/

"You're kidding," Karen laughed. "Not one?"

"No, I swear!" Anthony stabbed at his salad. "The only teams I was on were the mathletes and the debate team."

"Then what are you, into CrossFit or something?" she cut into her steak. "Or, Parkour, maybe? A trampoline-er?"

Anthony laughed. "Is that a thing?"

"Oh, it's totally a thing," Karen assured him. "You must not be a California boy."

He finished chewing quickly. "No, I'm from Gotham, actually. Born and raised. But I was lucky enough to be exempt from the accent."

"I was gonna say…" she smiled, focusing on her food once more. "I was a cheerleader in high school," she divulged. "Captain of the squad, actually."

"You serious?" he was genuinely surprised. "I never would have pegged you."

"Pegged me for what?" she questioned, a slight challenge to her tone as she raised an eyebrow. "Because I sure as hell hope you weren't about to tell me cheerleading isn't a sport."

"Well…" Anthony adjusted himself, proceeding with slight caution as he tried to keep a smile at bay. "See, my Ma and sister were gymnasts, so…"

"Wait a minute," he seemed to have distracted her, "—your sister isn't Jolene Quinzel, is she?"

"Uh—yeah," Anthony smiled. "That's her."

"Anthony, oh my god!" Karen reached across the table to hold his hand, her eyes full of pity. "I thought I recognized the last name, but I had no idea! I was so sorry to hear about her diagnosis…"

 _Diag—fucking…goddamn it, Jo! I didn't need a pity fuck!_ "She's a fighter," Anthony assured her. "We're feeling optimistic."

/

"Seriously, who even robs banks anymore?" Jo whispered. "I mean—way more efficient to hack something, right? In this day and age?"

"Shut up," Damian intoned, watching through his night-vision binoculars as the would-be criminals placed a charge on the wall.

"You think they're going for the safety deposit boxes?" Jo wondered. "Cuz they won't even be able to pay off the property damage with what's behind the counter. And do banks even have safes anymore?"

Damian's jaw was clenched in annoyance. "If you continue to irritate or vex me, I will have you sent back to the cave for monitor duty."

"Ooh, but see, I've been known to be quite—,"

"—drop, now."

Jo did as she was told, dropping from her perch on the side of the building and landing in a roll before popping back up to her feet. "Hi, boys!"

The thief closest to her turned around, startled, while the one who was setting the charge sneered: "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

"Well, I've got boobs and a bat-symbol, so…you wanna take a guess?"

"Batwoman…" the first one growled.

"Holy shit!" Jo nearly doubled over with laughter. "There were only two options and you still got it wrong! You must be a special kinda stupid." she wiped a tear from her eye. "Nah, Batwoman is my Mama's name. Call me Batgirl," she grinned.

"Alright, ya little smartass," the second guy pulled out a gun, aiming it for her head. "You got one'a these in that utility belt?"

"No," she sighed sadly, "But I've got a one of these…"

Damian swung into view then, kicking the gun out of his hand and pulling the other man's shirt over his eyes before punching him in the stomach a swift three times.

Jo sprinted for the gun, sliding on the ground to pick it up and then turning around, still wearing that wide grin on her face. "Now I got one'a these and one'a those! What more could a girl ask for?" she pointed the gun at the second man, freezing him in his tracks and setting Damian up for the knockout blow, which he delivered to the man's temple.

"Night," Jo giggled excitedly, rushing over to handcuff them both. "OK," she turned to Damian. "Next time you talk and I'll punch."

/

Anthony walked Karen to her door, his jacket draped over her shoulders, but she'd rather blatantly (although non-verbally) declined to hold hands, so…it was a toss-up.

She stopped just outside, looking at her feet first before glancing up at him. "I—I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would."

"Wow, is that Shakespeare? Such poetry..." Anthony's words were teasing but his eyes were soft, his smile kind.

"Yeah, uh, Sonnet 18, right?"

"Hmm…" Anthony tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, thou art more lovely and more temperate. I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would…yeah," he decided. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Karen shook her head with something Anthony was hoping approached affection as she unlocked the door. She seemed confused when she pushed it open and he took a step back. "Aren't you coming in?"

 _Well, Mom told me to be clear in my intentions…_ "If you insist," he smiled, moving past her into the apartment.

Karen shut the door behind them, setting her keys down on the counter and flicking on a light switch, illuminating what Anthony thought was better described as a 'loft' than an apartment.

"Wow…" he whistled, walking towards the large picture window that overlooked the San Francisco bay. "That's…quite the view."

"Mhm…" she acknowledged, and he could hear the smile on her lips. "Makes the 40-minute commute worth it. You want a drink?"

 _Alcohol doesn't really affect me_. "No, I think I'm good. You go ahead, though." He turned around to watch her, but she headed for the couch rather than the kitchen, stripping his jacket off and setting it down beside her.

"The wine was plenty for me," she told him.

He nodded, his eyes drifting from her momentarily before landing on a piano that he'd missed while he was distracted by the view. _Clutch!_ "Is that a piano?" he asked, nodding towards it.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" she chuckled.

He smirked, approaching it. "You mind if I…"

"Nope, be my guest." She sighed, sitting back into the couch cushions, crossing one leg over the other. "You play?"

"I dabble," he said nonchalantly, sitting down on the bench. "Do you?"

"No, not really." She answered. "That was already here when I moved in and nobody came to pick it up, so…I thought maybe I'd learn someday."

"Mmm…" Anthony smiled to himself, cracking his knuckles before spreading his fingers out on the keys. He elected to start with a personal favorite: Chopin- Nocturne op. 9 no. 2. Beautiful, romantic—haunting, even…but also approachable.

He'd only been playing for about 20 seconds when he heard Karen laugh behind him. "Just dabble, huh?"

Anthony craned his neck to look at her, but continued to play, shrugging as he said "I do my best."

"Uh huh…" she was unconvinced. "So that's your big move? You hope the girl has a piano so you can exceed her wildest expectations with some Chopin? What happens if she doesn't have a piano?"

Anthony laughed, turning his focus back to the keys. "I sing—but it's always nicer when the two go together."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Karen got up, coming around to stand on the other side of the instrument so that they were speaking face-to-face. "So what's your go-to?" she asked. "What's your song? With those suits and that golden boy smile it's probably something classic, right? Wow them with a little depth? Sinatra? Elvis, maybe?"

 _Am I that transparent?_ The look on her face was telling him he most definitely was. _Fine, we'll go the other route._ He quickly changed the key, moving on to a new song.

"What are you doing?" she asked, likely beginning to recognize what he was playing.

"Well…if you're not going to take me seriously, I'm not going to take myself seriously either." He decided, and then began to sing: " _Close your eyes, make a wish / and blow out the candlelight…_ "

Karen arched her brow. "You're kidding."

Anthony just shook his head, trying his very best to keep a straight face. " _For tonight is just your night / we're gonna celebrate, all through the night…_ "

"Oh my God," she covered her eyes. "This isn't happening."

" _Pour the wine, light the fire / girl your wish is my command_ …"

"Stop it," she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

" _I submit to your demands / I will do anything, girl you need only ask_ ,"

"You are not about to—,"

" _I'll make love to you!_ " Anthony stood up from the bench. " _Like you want me to! And I'll hold you tight! Baby, all through the night_ —,"

Karen couldn't even look at him she was laughing so hard.

" _I'll make love to you! Like you want me to! And I will not let go til' you tell me to…_ "

"God…" she buried her face in her hands.

"What?" Anthony laughed, quieting his playing. "Too much?"

Karen was trying to pull herself together. "Well, having a white boy serenade me with Boys II Men certainly wasn't something on my bucket list…"

"Oh, alright, alright," he stopped, grinning. "Point taken. I'll—uh, I'll try something a little whiter." He sat back down on the bench and tried again, performing a short riff before beginning. " _I feel like I've been locked up tight for a century of lonely nights…_ "

"No," Karen shook her head, clearly in denial. "No."

" _Waiting for someone…to release me_ ," he continued despite her protests, rolling his upper body and winking. " _You're lickin' your lips and blowing kisses my way / but that don't mean I'm gonna give it away / baby baby baby…"_

"Why?!"

" _Ooh, my body's saying let's go / ooh, but my heart is saying no!_ "

"Why are there piano chords to this?!"

" _If you wanna be with me, baby there's a price to pay / I'm a genie in a bottle / you gotta rub me the right way—,"_

"And why do you know them?" Karen demanded. "That's the more important question here."

Anthony chuckled, banging out one final note. "Remember that whole bit about growing up in a house full of women? Yeah, I wasn't kidding."

Karen covered her mouth to hide her smile. "Christina Aguilera is Latina."

"Well, fine," Anthony sighed, taking his hands away from the keys and standing up. "But if I go any whiter I think it'll have to be acapella."

"S—should I be afraid?" Karen wanted to know.

"I don't know," Anthony shrugged, unbuttoning his vest. "We'll see if you can handle it."

"Why does it seem like I'm more embarrassed then—,"

"— _If I was your boyfriend I'd never let you go…"_

"My God…"

" _Imma take you places you ain't never been before…_ "

"Please—,'

 _"—Baby take a chance or you'll never ever know / I've got money in my hand that I'd really like to blow—_ ,"

"I know you're not about to say 'swag'." Karen assured herself.

" _Swag, swag, swag, on you—_ ,"

"What does that even mean?"

" _Chillin' by the fire while we're eatin' fondue—_ ,"

"That's not sexy."

" _I don't know about me, but I know about you/so say hello to falsetto in three, two…I'd like to be, everything you want—_ ,"

"Jesus, no!" Karen grabbed desperately for his shirt, pulling him towards her. "Just shut up and kiss me—please!"

Anthony grinned before complying, hoisting her legs up around his waist as he walked them towards the couch.

/

"How was she?" Bruce asked once both Damian and Jolene had climbed out of the Batmobile.

"Terrible," Damian answered, pulling his cowl off. "She's a little brat and a total pain in the ass."

"Sounds familiar…" Bruce mumbled. "But I don't care about her temperament. Was she effective?"

"She's fine," Damian snapped, descending quickly down the platform steps. "Just don't put her with me anymore. I work better alone."

Jolene waved after him as he quickly exited the cave. "See ya later, Alligator!"

He flipped her off without looking back, which seemed to amuse her. "Can I be honest with you, Uncle Bruce?" she asked, turning her attention to him.

Bruce cleared his throat and nodded.

"Your son? He's sort of a punk-ass bitch." She informed him.

"Oh?" He leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms. "I heard there are times when you aren't much better."

Jo rolled her eyes. "I already apologized for that whole thing."

"Glad to hear it," Bruce granted. "I'm just saying throwing rocks might be ill-advised."

The sun was coming up now, her shift was over, Ma was waiting to bring her back home…but Jo would have given almost anything for just one more moment in her Batsuit.

"Tomorrow," she reminded herself as she pulled on her civilian clothes and closed the glass case on her suit, giving it a quick wave goodbye (which she wished she could take back as it made her feel incredibly stupid).

She unlocked her phone as she headed for the exit, checking for any notifications she missed while they were separated…there were a few emails from colleges, a bunch of 'get well' tweets aimed at her, and a facebook message from… _you've gotta be fucking kidding me._

 **Jason Todd: You're an incredibly easy girl to track down, you know that?**


	43. Chapter 43

"Did you—,"

 _Bzzt_

"Did you see—,"

 _Bzzt_

"Jolene!" Pam shouted. "Will you put that thing away? Who in the world are you talking to that's so important they can't wait for 30 minutes while we eat dinner?"

Jo snatched her phone off the table. "They're tweets from all the people that think I have cancer. Have a little sensitivity."

"For your fictional cancer diagnosis?"

Harley just continued with her meal. First off, she liked burgers, and for once in her life she hadn't turned them into hockey pucks. These ones could conceivably be eaten without a gallon of water, and the fact that no one was appreciating it was sort of pissing her off. But secondly, she'd learned that it was best to only intervene in Pam and Jo's arguments when it was absolutely necessary. She'd decided to wait a bit on this one.

Currently, Jo was texting and Pam was glaring, so…things were calming back down. "Did I see what?" Harley prompted.

Pam slowly turned her attention back her way. "Did you see Barbara's press conference today?"

"Oh," Harley smiled, saying: "Yeah. She looked pretty cute—," at the same time Pam was saying: "—she sounded competent."

"Hotter than her Dad and a more engaging speaker," Jo was the tie breaker. "There. We all win. Plus, having a Police Chief who used to be a vigilante is sort of the best case scenario. For us, anyway."

Pam cleared her throat as she picked at her salad. "How has it been? Working with Damian."

"Mmm…how would you describe his friendship with Anthony?" Jo asked.

"Flimsy." was Harley's answer.

"Oh, good." Jo grinned. "Because, at the rate we're going, I doubt the Wayne-Quinzel relationship will survive this generation…. unless this is his baby I'm carrying."

Harley laughed, but Pam was a little harder to please.

"Ooh, teen pregnancy jokes, those are fun," she said, facetiously, as she popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

"Humor is subjective," Jo sneered.

"So they say…" Pam sighed as she got up from the table to put her plate in the sink. With her back turned, so asked: "Are you still seeing that Jason boy?"

Harley slowly sat at attention. This was one of the subjects that she put herself on alert for, and she was ready to step in if it got too heated, like, if anyone decided to punch a wall or anything.

Jolene's gaze was even and cold, her expression a bit haughty. "When I can. Been sorta busy this last month."

Although Harley couldn't see her face, she did see Pam's shoulders visibly relax. "Well, I'm…glad to hear you're learning to efficiently budget your time." She said as she turned the faucet on to clean her plate.

Jo pushed away from the table. "Yeah, you bet. Good talk, guys."

"Plate, Jolene." Pam reminded her as she headed for the stairs.

"No, I got it," Harley said, hoping to avoid Jo storming down the stairs and then leaving again in an angry huff.

"Thanks!" she shouted over her shoulder as she disappeared into her bedroom.

Pam's sigh was long, and loud, so much so that Harley would describe it as 'straight up aggressive' rather than passive aggressive. "I really don't think it's too much to ask that she brings her plate to the sink. She doesn't do any housework, she doesn't help me in the garden…she has literally one chore and it's that. We don't even ask that she washes it, just that she sets it on the sink. Is that really so hard?"

Harley stacked her plate on top of Jo's and brought them both over, planting a kiss on Pam's cheek when she arrived. "No, it's not hard."

"Then why do we demand so little of her?" Pam asked in a tone that made the question sound not at all rhetorical.

"Because it's easier?" Harley laughed. "And according to JFK, that's the best way to go about parenting."

Pam furrowed her brow in confusion.

"You know, not because they're hard, but because they're easy." Harley clarified.

Now Pam's eyes were narrowed critically. "OK," she began, calmly. "Firstly, you've got the quote backwards, he was encouraging taking on what seemed impossible. And secondly, it was about space travel, not parenting. But it's good to know you paid such excellent attention in school."

Harley snickered as she leaned forward to give her a proper kiss. "Thank goodness you're here to educate me, then."

Pam rolled her eyes as she kissed her: "I know you only say things like that to stroke my ego."

"Hey, 32 years, I must be doing something right," Harley winked.

"I'm serious," Pam said, wrapping her arms around Harley's waist to pull her closer. "And I love that she seems relatively fulfilled by her new position and her inclusion into that world, but it seems like the only thing her being Batgirl didn't fix was our relationship. She seems perfectly chipper around just about anyone else, you included."

Harley wished there was a quick fix. She really did. She could see how much Pam was hurting…and there were a million strategies she could employ, if she thought about it. Ways to convince Pam to see the situation in a different light or perhaps convince her to adjust how she was handling it…but Harley felt a bit tired, quite frankly. She liked games, she always would…but at this point, it didn't seem worth the toll it took on Pam, not when she was already getting so much shit from Jo.

And…OK, like…this is going to sound stupid, probably, but sometimes Pam wore her glasses. That's not—ugh—it was difficult for Harley to explain. But—see, Ivy's superpowers gave her 20/20 vision. Without them or before them she wore glasses, and when she paled her skin her vision tended to lose its sharpness, so while they were part of her human disguise, they were also largely necessary. And now, sometimes, when Pam got home from the Watchtower in the evenings, she would come inside and keep her glasses on…keep her skin paled…and honestly Harley wasn't sure if she did it on purpose or what, but she liked the idea that Pam felt comfortable like that. Relating to her family as human, it was…well it was just really cute and sweet and tended to remind Harley that while, yes, she was married to an immortal meta-human, Pam was still a human being—was now, had been…and that human that came before was like…wonderful.

Harley knew their connection wouldn't have been as instantaneous if she'd met Pamela rather than Poison Ivy. And of course the fact that Ivy needed fixing was a big draw for her, for better or worse ( _worse, probably for worse_ ). And yeah, so it had taken some time for Harley to fall completely in love with Pamela rather than just be excited by Ivy or excited by the challenge and danger of being with Ivy… _but, in any case, long story short, yeesh, was that a tangent, Harls_ …occasionally Pamela was comfortable just being Pamela now at the end of the day and that made it extremely difficult to see her sad or hurt, especially when it came at the hands of she or Jo. Pam just had such an incredible idea of female comradery…it was like the last hope she held on to, the one subject she wasn't completely jaded about…so anyway, it broke Harley's heart seeing Pam realize that perhaps she had (and would always have) a stronger and easier connection with her son than with her daughter.

Pam was looking at her oddly now, her head cocked to the side, and it was only then that Harley realized her eyes had welled up with tears thanks to her internal monologue. _Great…_

"I didn't mean it to sound like I blamed you," Pam said, softly, likely thinking that was what the tears were about as she moved her sleeve to wipe them away from Harley's cheeks. "I'm sorry…"

"It's OK," Harley whispered, suddenly wrapping her up in a tight hug. "I'm sorry about Jo. I don't…I don't really know how to fix it."

Pam seemed a bit surprised by how tight Harley was now gripping her, so her voice was slightly higher than usual when she said: "It's not your fault."

Harley loosened her grip slightly when she felt Pam's hand begin to slowly trail soothingly up and down her spine. "She's just—she's different from me where it counts," Harley told her. "She's angrier, and she holds onto it a whole lot better."

Pam sighed as they separated. "Your highs and my lows," her smile was tinged with sadness. "How charming."

/

9…that's when he said he'd be here.

8:58…that's what time it was.

But Jo couldn't make her legs move.

No! she wasn't scared, pfft. He was just a stupid boy, one she didn't even really like.

 _I mean…he's enjoyable to look at, and sometimes he says things that could be interpreted as charming…_

Honestly, this was the first time she'd see him face to face since their chance encounter, but they'd been messaging a lot—like, a lot—and talking on the phone too…but no, she wasn't scared. There was nothing to be scared about.

She straightened her hair in front of the mirror, zipped up her jacket and slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, then descended the stairs quickly. 9 would mean they'd have…what? 3 hours before she had to report to the Batcave? That should be enough time.

 _Enough time? Enough time for what, you perv?_

Fuck it. She'd figure it out.

Her parents were sitting on one of the couches in the living room, Pam reading a book with Harley asleep on her lap.

"Where are you off to?" Pam asked, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

"Oh, umm—Carrie's." Jo lied, taking on a similar volume as clutched the doorknob in her hand. "We're gonna watch— _Carol_."

Pam didn't look terribly convinced. " _Carol_ …"

"Yeah," Jo affirmed, nodding. "Carrie wants to explain the weird-ass cinematography to me because I found it super distracting but evidently it's art, according to her anyway." She shrugged. "Then she'll drive us both to the cave."

"Fine," Pam waved her off. "Have fun and be safe tonight, please."

"Will do," Jo opened the door. _Carol? Fucking Carol? Selling it a little hard there, aren't'cha, Jolene?_

"I love you!" Pam said as Jo stepped onto the porch.

 _Mmm…_ "I know," Jo called behind her, closing the door and starting off down the street.

Jason was waiting on his motorcycle on the corner, his hair tousled and his… _yeah, he's hot, OK?_ "Hey," he said, offering her a helmet.

"I think you're supposed to zip up the jacket when you ride," she said, nodding to the t-shirt that was visible through the open zipper of his leather jacket. "I think that's sorta the point of it. To protect you."

"Thanks for the safety tip, Officer." He nudged the helmet into her hand. "This is for you."

"I got it." Jo grabbed it from him. "Where are we going?"

"There's this takeout spot by my place, thought we could go there." He told her.

"T—to the takeout place?" Jo knew what he meant, but her insecurity was showing.

"Nah, the foods already at home. Let's go." He gestured for her to get on behind him.

 _Yeah, Jo, let's go. Just hop on the back of that motorcycle with a boy who you've had like three face-to-face conversations with and who's made his intentions super-duper clear. Just…go ahead and do that._

All in one quick motion—before she could think better of it or chicken out—she pulled the helmet onto her head and fastened the strap below her chin, getting on and tentatively wrapping her arms around his ribs. _OK, so yeah, he's muscular._ But he wasn't like the Anthony-underwear-model archetype, and not like any of the male gymnasts she knew—not like Damian. Like a mechanic, he was muscular like a mechanic and _what the fuck, Jo? Quit being a perv!_

The ride was quick and somewhat painless…he only ran one red light and, really, Jo couldn't say she wouldn't have done the same, so…no harm no foul, she supposed. And who was she to talk? She went out at night and assaulted people—criminals, but still. She'd felt a little guiltier about breaking laws since her Godmother became police chief, though.

Jason didn't help her off when they arrived outside his building, but whatever, she didn't need help anyway. Jo was totally capable of getting off the bike by herself. In fact, _yeah, thank you, Jason, for not patronizing me._ _Mom would like him._

 _…_ _or, would she?_

 _Who cares? Fuck Mom._

 _No, don't fuck Mom._

 _Like, fuck you, Mom!_

 _Yeah, OK. Good._

Jo was nodding to herself as Jason opened the front door to his building and lead her inside. "You good?" He asked.

"Who, me? Never better." Was Jo's (hopefully convincing) answer.

"I hope you like phad thai because it's all I ordered." Jason told her as he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter in his sparsely decorated, ground level, one-bedroom apartment.

"This is—uh—nice," Jo offered as he shut the door behind her. "It's…umm…who's your decorator? I'll have to give them a call."

"Ha, good one." His word's dripped with sarcasm. "I know it's lame. But it's got a TV and a fridge and a bed, and that's really all I need." He said, plopping down on said couch. "Besides, it's a whole lot better than the shithole I grew up in."

Well that…sounded mildly interesting. "Oh?" Jo prompted.

"Yeah," he didn't elaborate, but pointed to the plastic bag on the counter near where Jo was standing. "Wanna hand me one of those?"

"S—sure," Jo turned, grabbing the two to-go containers out of the bag. "Umm…utensils?"

"Should be chopsticks in there."

There were. _Good_. She grabbed them too, carrying everything to the couch and handing Jason one of the containers.

"So…" Jo began as she sat next to him and opened her food. "How long have you been living alone?"

"Since I was 12," he told her, after he'd swallowed his first bite. "Well, for a year, anyway. Then the foster care system got a hold of me and I got out like two years later."

"Oh, were you adopted?" Jo asked.

"No," he laughed. "No, I ran away. Got a job…the rest is history."

Jo sat back into the cushions just a bit, feeling slightly more comfortable now that she knew _a bit_ more about him. "What—umm—what happened at 12? Why did you need to go into foster care?"

"Shit's a little heavy…"

"Oh, I don't mind." Jo assured him. "I've seen my fair share of 'heavy shit'."

"That right?" he mumbled, looking like he needed to convince himself. "Well my Mom OD'd, and left me to fend for myself for a bit. Ended up stealing some hubcaps off of Oswald Cobblepot's car—,"

"Penguin?"

"Yeah, that's him. They caught me…thought they were gonna kill me, to be honest, but instead they said I owed em' a debt. So when I broke out of the foster care system, that's where I went."

"But he's like a mobster," Jo reminded him once his story was finished.

"Yeah," Jason chuckled humorlessly. "I didn't care. They took me in when I had nobody and employed me until I could stand on my own two feet."

"Oh…" Jo looked down at her lap. OK, so yes, he was sort of an asshole…but he'd also endured a lot of fucked up shit. _Ma always said there's a reason for the way everyone turned out_ …the fact that he's even halfway decent after what happened to him…that's almost impressive, right?

"Whatever," he was shrugging. "It is what it is, we all have our little tragedies. Nobody cares."

 _I don't—no, I care!_ "Don't say that," Jo implored, leaning forward to grasp his hand and look at him meaningfully. "Don't sweep that shit under the rug."

"Yeah, I don't really tell anybody about that," he mumbled.

The realization that he'd trusted her enough to share it, even though it may have made him feel vulnerable, gave Jo a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Without much thought or foresight, she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

She was a bit embarrassed by the fact that she was now blushing a lot harder than he was, but her mind quickly became occupied with other thoughts when he reached for her food, setting it down on the stack of magazines he used for a coffee table along with his own food, and moved toward her…so close that she could feel his breath on her lips and hear her heart pounding in her ears.

…and then his lips were pressed against hers.

Jo had been kissed before…she'd kissed other people too, boys and girls, she honestly didn't have much of a preference. But none of those had ever felt this—real? It was all cursory, or just a game, or on a dare…but this time it felt like it meant something. Probably because they were alone in his apartment and like…he'd already sent her a dick pic…she knew what she was getting into, she knew it from the beginning.

But he wasn't a bad kisser, that was something she could comment on definitively. And she…was attracted to him…otherwise why did she come here? Certainly not to eat sub-par Thai food.

Jason was pressing her down into the couch now, his weight on top of her…that didn't exactly feel bad either, but things did feel like they were moving a bit fast, she'd only had one bite of her noodles and she was actually a bit hungry. Maybe she could finish them after. _After what, Jo?_

"You good here or do you wanna move to the bedroom?" He asked, separating for a moment but keeping his hand under her shirt.

 _Am I good here? Do I want to lose my virginity on a couch? Oh God, is that what I'm about to do?_

"No, let's—bedroom," _hey, at 15 Ma was sleeping with her grown-ass gymnastics coach. This is a huge improvement._

Jason got up, helping her this time, which she did happen to like. He led the way, her hand in his into one of the apartment's two internal doors. This one wasn't the bathroom, although it was so small it almost could have been. There was a bed, though, and it was made, which she found oddly endearing.

Jason was kissing her again and walking her backwards towards the bed, but as she went she caught sight of a poster on the wall over his shoulder and ripped her mouth away immediately.

"What the fuck is that?" She asked, pointing.

He stopped, although his annoyance was clear, and turned to look. "It's a pinup. Aren't you bi or whatever? What do you care?"

"No—it's—she—no," Jolene was starring her Mother straight in the face. It was one of those stupid "I Want You!...to recycle" posters she'd posed for during one of her first ad campaigns.

"Not a Poison Ivy fan?" That seemed to surprise him. "She's a feminist, right? Thought you'd be into that."

"She's—it's gotta come down." Jo said. "Just for a bit, just while we…take it down."

"Why?"

 _BECAUSE I DON'T WANT MY MOM WATCHING ME HAVE SEX_. "I just—uhh—inadequacies and beauty standards and—look, buddy, do you wanna fuck me or not?"

"Alright, damn…" he pushed past her and took the tacs out of the poster, rolling it up and setting it on the floor. "Happy?"

Jo scanned the room, and shook her head once more when her eyes landed on a plant. "That guy too. He's gotta go."

"Who? My plant?"

"Yep, your plant." Jo nodded fiercely. _That motherfucker will tattle on me so quick…_

Jason huffed at that, but ultimately caved, picking up the plant by its pot and setting it outside the bedroom door. "Better?"

"Um—," Jo cleared her throat, smoothing her hands nervously down her legs. "Yeah."

—

Jo walked as quickly as she could down to the Batcave, pressing her thumb to the keypad that opened the main entrance. She was about 20 minutes early, which was perfect as she knew that getting into her suit would help some of the current discomfort she was experiencing go away. She sincerely hoped her accelerated healing applied to soreness as well—it usually did, after all, but this feeling was new.

Damian was sitting at the monitor next to Carrie, looking over some area statistics, but he looked up when she entered, his expression portraying something Jo thought almost looked like…pity? "You have a visitor," he intoned.

"A vi—," but Jo couldn't even get out a full word before: "JOLENE QUINZEL," echoed through the Batcave.


	44. Chapter 44

"Oh…fuck…"

Pamela stood against the railing as she watched the words pass through her daughter's lips on the ground below her. "Come here. Now." She told her, her voice still carrying with a slight echo.

"Uhh—," Jo's body language made it clear she wanted to run screaming from the room. "No—I—uhh, I think I'm good down here, thanks."

Her skin hot and tingling with rage, Pam said, as calmly as she could possibly manage: "That wasn't a suggestion. I don't want to do this in front of your friends."

Carrie's eyes immediately fell to her lap, her cheek's turning bright red, Cass busied herself with dusting off her suit—the one that spent its days in a glass case—and Bruce went to get himself another cup of coffee. Damian was the only one who continued to watch the situation unfold.

"Jolene," Pam said again, and this time it got her moving.

Jo trudged up the stairs, her eyes at her feet, a few beads of sweat visible on her brow. She stopped about a yard in front of Pam and slowly raised her gaze. She looked guilty, her shoulders slouched, her eye-contact shaky, a slight blush in her cheeks.

Pam pointed to Harley's office and Jo led the way, going in and sitting on the couch. Pam followed, closing the door behind them.

"You lied to me," her tone was icy as she crossed her arms, standing above her daughter. "Right to my face, you lied."

"…how did you…"

"Know you weren't with Carrie?" Pam guessed. "You mean aside from the fact that you never even briefed her on what you were actually doing?"

"She told you I wasn't with her?"

"No, she had no idea where you were. No one did, Jolene. What if he was violent? What if he'd hurt you?" Pam asked. "There's nothing anyone could have done about it."

"…except for you." Jo sighed. "Did the cactus tell you?"

"Jolene—," Pam rubbed her eyes quickly, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment. "When I say I'm a goddess, or the physical embodiment of Mother Nature, or even a fucking superhero—what do you think? Do you think I'm lying? Do you think I just say those things to sound cool or to boast, or maybe to frighten you? No, Jolene, I can hear everything. I can see everything. And I could see and hear you in that shitty apartment in South Gotham."

Jo's face drained of all color. "You didn't—Mom, you didn't—,"

"Of course I didn—who the fuck do you think I am?!" Pam demanded. "Honestly, Jolene, I know we haven't exactly been getting along lately, but in what world would I—I know how to shut it off!"

Jo seemed to relax at that news…well, slightly, as much as one could while they were still being actively yelled at.

"Do you know how old he is?" Pam asked.

"Umm…" Jo shifted uncomfortably under the question. "Older than me?"

"Seven years older than you," Pam spat. "He is a 22-year-old MAN and you are a child. He's older than your brother! You know—the one with the college degree."

"No, that's not…no." Jo shook her head. "No, he was at my High School."

"Yes, taking college extension courses." Pam swiftly crossed over to Harley's desk and grabbed the papers sitting there, dropping them down onto Jo's lap. "His transcripts, if you're curious. No surprise he's an idiot."

"Where did you get these?" Jo asked as she flipped through them.

"The Batcave is equipped with one of the most advanced computers in the world," Pam told her. "Some cursory background research wasn't difficult. I'm surprised you didn't feel it was necessary to do _any_ before sleeping with him. Don't you care who you're sharing that part of yourself with?"

"Y—yes, of course I do!" Jo shot up, throwing the papers aside. "And I—I like him, so—what does it matter?!"

"It doesn't matter if you like him! He's 22 years old!" Pam yelled, in utter disbelief that she was having to explain this. "You are a 15-year-old who was just statutorily raped! You understand that, don't you? Have you never listened to a word your Mother has said? Surely she explained this issue to you, I know I _certainly_ have."

"It's not the same as it was for her!" Jo shot back. "Jason doesn't get anything from being with me, and neither do I! It's not—Ma was blackmailed. This isn't that."

Pam shook her head, turning away from her. "Statutorily raped by a man named Jason...I suppose I should be impressed. I sincerely appreciate the equal representation." She grabbed her jacket from the coatrack and headed towards the door.

"Hey!" Jo tried to stop her. "Where are you going?"

"Home." Pam opened the door.

"But you—you're not gonna make me come with you?" Jo asked, bewildered.

"No," Pam confirmed. "You have a job to do. And if you're old enough to have sex with a gown man, and if you're old enough to hate me—then you're old enough to honor your professional responsibilities."

"Mom…" Jo followed after her as Pam headed for the walkway. "Mom, look I'm—I'm sorry I lied."

Pam suddenly spun around, grabbing her daughter by the front of her shirt and pulling her close enough to touch her lips to her ear. "If he hurts you…" a vine slowly slithered out of her wrist, wrapping itself loosely around Jo's neck. "I will rape him with his own cock. Do you understand me?"

She felt Jo's swallow below the vine as the girl's pulse quickened. "Yes," she whispered.

"Good," Pam murmured, retracting the vine slowly and releasing her shirt. Her mouth was drawn into a hard line as she gave Jo one last look over. "It will be up to you to tell your Mother," and with that, she turned and made her way down the stairs, mumbling "Bruce" as she passed him by.

/

Harley rolled over onto her other side, reaching to put her arm around Pam, but feeling a pillow there instead. Groggily, she opened her eyes, scanning the other side of the bed…which her wife was noticeably missing from.

"Pam," she said aloud, her voice raspy with sleep. "Pam, I want to be cuddled."

No answer.

Harley looked around the room, confused. It was…2am, according to her phone. Pam usually didn't wake up until the sun came up or maybe just before.

 _Maybe she got called in_ , Harley thought as she yawned. But as she stretched and rolled onto her back, she noticed the window that faced the backyard was illuminated with light.

Pulling herself out of bed, she approached the window and looked down, seeing Pam sitting in her garden with her knees drawn to her chest.

"The fuck?" Harley wondered, grabbing her robe and starting out of the bedroom and down the stairs, out into the backyard.

Pam didn't look up at the sound of the back door closing.

"What the hell are you doing? It's 2am." Harley told her, crossing the yard to stand next to her.

"These children are all so well behaved," Pam chuckled, gently brushing the tips of their petals with her finger. "Sunlight, water…mulch when it gets cold, a few whispered words of encouragement every now and again…they're perfect."

Harley looked at her strangely. "You alright?"

"No, no not really," Pam smiled up at her.

"Did…something happen with Jo?" Harley wondered, sitting down next to her. She had gone to sleep pretty early…

Pam didn't answer, just wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, until Harley was resting her head on her shoulder.

Harley was confused…but also super tired, and the night was warm and Pam smelled good, so she let her eyes drift close.

"Remember with Anthony?" Pam asked. "When we first brought him home…and we had him all to ourselves…And it was just…peaceful? And he smiled and I held him and he was quiet and comforted because he knew that he was loved."

"Yeah," Harley mumbled.

"Does Jo know; do you think?" Pam asked.

"Yes," Harley whispered. "She knows."

/

"This tea is garbage." Pam mumbled as she sat down with her mug at the table, taking the newspaper that was sitting in front of Harleen and extracting the Home and Gardening section before returning the rest to her.

"No, it's tea." Harleen corrected.

Pam deemed it far too early for this particular brand of humor. "It tastes like garbage."

"Then maybe you should go to the store and get yourself something better." Harley suggested, starring down at her phone.

"The grocery stores in this city represent the worst of corporate America." Pam scowled at the taste of the liquid in her cup. "I would go if there was a farmer's market."

"They don't sell tea at the farmer's market, Pam."

"Sure they do." The redhead set her mug down and opened the paper.

Harleen rolled her eyes. "Is Jo up yet?"

"No." Pam told her. "But she's 16. If she can't get to school on time at this point, then she deserves detention."

Harley was preparing her response when her phone rang on the table. She snatched it up immediately, answering it and then setting it back down. "Anthony! What a fun surprise! Hold on one second, I'm going to put you on speaker. Mom's here with me."

"It wasn't a surprise." Pam casually set the record straight. "She's been watching her phone for the last 15 minutes."

Anthony laughed. "I could have guessed."

"Anyway…" Harley began, shooting Pam a look across the table. "How is your week shaping up? You're definitely coming home for Thanksgiving on Thursday, right? Selina's making the turkey herself, so it should be terrible."

Anthony laughed again. "I'll be there. With a friend, actually. If that's alright."

"Ooh, did Tony finally find himself a girl?" Jolene asked, having silently crept into the kitchen.

"No coffee." Pamela snapped at the girl preemptively.

Jo stopped mid-pour, setting the coffee pot back down. "Motherfucker…" she mumbled.

"Props for the pun." Pam offered, flipping the page.

"Is that your next billboard slogan?" Jo sneered.

Pam looked across the table, offering her daughter a tone-deaf smile. "I'll be sure to send an advanced copy to your boyfriend." She didn't wait for Jo's reaction before focusing her attention back on her paper.

"Right…" Anthony said, trying to assert himself back into the conversation. "So in any case…"

"Is she cute?" Harleen asked. "Scale from Mom to Angela Merkel."

"Umm…" He considered the parameters of the question. "Hillary Clinton at the 1996 Democratic National Convention."

Harley and Jolene both furrowed their brows, trying to conjure a mental image.

"Hot enough to notice, hotter when you factor in her intellect." Pam translated, her focus never wavering from the article she was reading.

"Ah," Harleen and Jo said in unison.

/

Anthony ended the phone call with a smile, listening as the shower shut off.

Karen appeared a few moments later, a towel around her body and her hair perfectly dry.

"You found the shower caps?" Anthony prompted, propping himself up a bit by putting his arm beneath his head.

"I did," she confirmed, heading for the closet. "Thank you."

Anthony smiled as he watched her move his clothes to the side to access the corner he'd cleared out for her. She kept a couple outfits there as his apartment was considerably closer to campus than her loft was, and it was always good to be prepared.

"I've got a question." Karen said, her attention still on the clothes.

"Well I hope I have an answer." Anthony sat up, knowing that he had a question of his own to ask.

"Did you just, like, watch _Crazy, Stupid, Love_ one time and go 'I want that!' about Ryan Gosling's wardrobe?" Karen wondered. "Because it seriously looks like he threw up in here."

Anthony snorted. "I fail to see how that's a bad thing." Her responding snicker made him shake his head, and quiet descended as she proceeded to get dressed. _Just ask, dude._ "Hey," he piped up. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"I don't know," she replied distractedly as she buttoned up her shirt. "Might do like a Friendsgiving thing since my parents seem to be taking Mal's side in the divorce."

 _Sweet—well, not sweet, but helpful for my purposes._ "Oh, well…we could spend it together, if you wanted." He casually suggested.

Karen shrugged, heading back to the bathroom to apply her make up. "Sure, why not. We're not bad cooks, after all."

"I actually go back to Gotham for Thanksgiving," Anthony told her. "I'm flying out on Wednesday, if you're interested."

"Are you asking me to spend thanksgiving with your family?" she asked.

"That's—yes, that's what I'm asking." Anthony admitted, getting out of bed and coming to stand in the doorway. "They said they'd love to have you."

She stopped, setting down her mascara. "You already told them I was coming?"

"Well, no, I just asked if you could." He assured her. "You don't _have_ to do anything, I'd just—I'd really like you to."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I like you," he chuckled. "I like you a lot, and I'd like you to meet the other people in my life that are important to me."

"No, I mean why would I want to meet your parents?" Karen clarified.

Anthony felt like the answer could easily be found in his previous statement. But either way, he sincerely wished he was wearing more than just boxer briefs for this conversation as he now felt a bit embarrassed and exposed. "Because they're important to me," he reiterated. "And I thought—maybe—after 5 months, that I was important to you too."

"That's sweet, Ant, but I think I'll sit this one out," she brushed him off. "Sorry, it's just—parent meeting is exactly the kind of thing I told you I didn't want to get into at the start."

"Yes, but that was 5 months ago," he repeated. "And you're—I mean, you have your own toothbrush here, and clothes in my closet—,"

"—Anthony," Karen sighed, leaning against the sink. "You're a good kid. And someday you're going to make some lucky woman incredibly happy. I mean, shit, you're perfect! Seriously. Gorgeous and funny and talented and brilliant and you fuck like a lesbian, which—I mean, gotta love the attention—but I am not that woman. I've already done the marriage thing, and it clearly wasn't for me."

"I'm not a kid," Anthony tried to mask his hurt by sounding offended. "And I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm asking you to meet my family."

"There's a natural progression to these things, Kid," she told him, giving him a kiss on the cheek before ducking under his arm and out of the bathroom.


	45. Chapter 45

Ivy rolled her eyes as she watched Jo jump on the back of Jason's motorcycle outside her school. "Ungrateful...little...f—heathen." She mumbled, leaning back as far as she could in her chair, starring at the light directly above her.

Ivy hated that boy—that man. With a fiery passion, she hated him. While it was true she'd never officially met him, she spent enough time watching him—enough time watching _them_ —that she felt like she had a pretty good handle on the kind of person he was.

He had a chip on his shoulder, that was for sure. One many times the size of Jo's. So much so that nothing Jo said would ever equate, no tragedy she'd suffered, no injustice she'd been party to…he was the victim, and he used that to his advantage. Jo felt sorry for him, and when he told her things, revealed things about himself, said no one else knew…Jo would smile, pity in her expression…and Pam would have to tune the rest out, as that was usually how their more intimate moments began.

Ivy was still staring up at the light when someone sat down next to her in a huff, sighing loudly as she did.

"How is it only Tuesday?" Bumblebee asked.

Ivy glanced at her, watching the younger woman as she stared out the window at the Earth below them. "Because yesterday was Monday," Ivy exhaled.

"Everything moves slower during the Holidays," Bumblebee grumbled.

"Mm," Ivy grunted in agreement. "Pretty, isn't it?" she asked, nodding downwards at the marvelous blue orb.

"Gorgeous," the woman corrected, "but she's sort of a 10 footer."

Ivy furrowed her brow, sitting up. "I'm sorry?"

"Looks good from up here, but when you get too close…sorta loses the appeal." Bumblebee explained.

Ivy didn't answer, just smirked and continued to gaze downward, so it was Bumblebee who again broke the silence. "Do you ever just…hate yourself?"

Ivy narrowed her eyes, thinking on that for a moment, trying to decide if she really wanted to get into a deeper conversation with a junior-leaguer. _Junior Justice? Justice Juniors? What was it? Something stupid, she knew that for certain._ "No," she answered, finally. "But I do occasionally regret things."

"And what do you do about it?" the woman asked.

Ivy sighed. She regretted so much not telling Jo earlier, truly believing that if she had, Jo would have just taken it in stride or at least been able to adjust without needing to fill this void so suddenly. "Regret is a pointless emotion." Ivy began. "It's reflective in nature, and that's all it will ever be. It comes with guilt, and a mind crippled by guilt will only ever allow for horizontal growth, which, really isn't growth at all, now is it?"

"No, no it's not." Bumblebee agreed.

"Fix what you can and leave the rest behind. There's no point in dwelling on it." Ivy told her. "In case you wanted advice from someone who continually fails to take it herself, there it is." She sat back in her chair. "That's where I would like this conversation to end."

"Oh—I—al—,"

"You're still talking."

/

Harleen squealed when the black town car pulled up along the curb outside. "They're here!"

"I'll be right there!" she heard Pam call from the kitchen.

…but Harley was impatient, so she hurried over to the front door, opening it to see Anthony dragging his suitcase up the front walk.

"Well if it isn't my favorite son," she grinned.

"Hey, Ma." He smiled, stepping up onto the porch so that she could pull him into a fierce hug (which she did immediately). "I like your sweater."

Harley separated so that she could give him another look at the embroidered "Pour some gravy on me". "I thought I'd treat myself," she shrugged happily. "So where's your—,"

"—Tony!" Harley was cut off by the sound of Jo's voice echoing through the house behind her. They both waited, listening as Jo bounded down the stairs and sped through the living room, skidding to a stop in her socks in the doorway. "Welcome home!" she grinned. "Your room is exactly how you left it, except for it's now where we store Mom's vast dildo collection." Jo paused for a moment, rolling her head in the direction of the kitchen, an expectant look on her face.

 _And, here we go…_ Harley sighed.

"I'm choosing not to engage!" Pam's voice called back.

Jo snorted, returning her attention to the task at hand. "Anyway…" she got on her tippy-toes to look over Anthony's shoulder. "Is your girlfriend wearing an invisibility cloak?"

"No, I—," Anthony cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. "It turns out I don't have a girlfriend as much as a woman I sleep with rather frequently who has no interest in committing to me in any measurable capacity. Which—includes spending Thanksgiving with my family."

Harley's heart sunk as he stared down at his shoes. "Anthony…"

"No, it's fine, really." He assured them. "It's my fault. I—I misinterpreted some things. Doesn't really matter. Can I come inside?"

"Oh," Harley and Jo glanced at each other, realizing they were blocking the doorway, and quickly stepped aside so he could drag his suitcase through.

"Smells good in here," he smiled once he'd set his bag by the stairs.

"Yes, well…your sister finally decided to take a shower," Pam appeared in front of him, wiping her hands on a towel before slinging it over her shoulder and moving in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How was your flight?"

"Oh, it was fine," he told her, a noticeable degree of depression in his tone. "A little turbulence, but I got a free first class upgrade and the flight attendant's phone number," he pulled a napkin out of his pocket. "So…it is what it is."

Jo snatched it away from him. "This says 'Keith'." She pointed out.

Anthony shrugged. "I'm a physically fit, well-dressed man traveling home alone for Thanksgiving. I'd say his assumption was fair."

"Yeah, alright, well…" Jo folded up the napkin and handed it back to him. "If you decide to experiment, you're a top. Don't let anybody tell you different."

He took one look at his sister before turning to his parents. "I am so sorry I left you guys alone with her."

Jo looked offended. "How dare you. I have cancer."

"Well that doesn't seem to be stopping you from running around in that Batgirl suit, now does it?" he posed the question with an arch in his brow. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't demand to be called 'Batbitch'. Batgirl is so…basic."

Jo's jaw dropped open, and she turned swiftly to Harley. "Ma…"

"No." Harley and Pam said simultaneously. "Absolutely not."

/

Karen stood in the middle of the grocery aisle by the floral display, mumbling "this is so fucking stupid" to herself as she waited for an attendant.

"Excuse me?" she flagged down a woman in a red vest. "Hi."

"Yes, Miss." The woman smiled a little too broadly given the fact that she was working on Thanksgiving. "How can I help you?"

"I'm, um, I'm looking for a pot. Well, a potted plant, I should say." She amended. "It's—I'm sorry, this is so stupid. See, my b—my—ugh," she groaned. _You can do it!_ "My boyfriend likes flowers, but it depresses him when he has to throw them away, so…I need a potted one. One that won't, uh, die." _Honestly, Karen, you're a doctor._

"Right…" the woman was regarding her a bit strangely, "Well…all of our potted plants are over here," she led her approximately 3 feet to the right and pointed.

 _I'm an idiot._ "Thank you," Karen said quickly, picking over the display.

"You're welcome," the woman smiled. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Karen patted her hair uncomfortably, trying conceive of the best way to phrase this. "What would you bring to a Thanksgiving you were invited to, but then you sort of ripped up the invitation and set it on fire, and _then_ decided to come anyway because you're trying to re-learn how to love yourself separate of some joint identity? And you'll also be meeting your sort-of-boyfriend's, sort-of-student's family for the first time and they're—for some reason—bizarrely aristocratic lesbians and their daughter is one of the most famous gymnasts in the world who was recently diagnosed with leukemia." she took a deep (necessary breath). "What do you bring to that?"

"Uhh—cheese?"

Armed with— _sigh_ —cheese (a wheel of brie, to be specific), Karen had her cab drop her off in front of what she hoped was the correct address.

The house was large, but not gratuitously so. It had a sort of Stepford aesthetic with its bright white paint and well-manicured lawn, but it was still charming. Its gardens and slightly overgrown ivy plant climbing up to the second story gave it personality.

It felt…safe, and Karen took a more relaxed breath when she stepped up onto the porch.

 _You're 32 years old with a PhD, there's absolutely no reason to be intimidated._

She set the flowers down at her feet and knocked a confident three times before picking them up again, placing them on her hip and gripping the cheese tighter.

…there was no answer.

Deflating, Karen began to panic slightly. What if this wasn't his house? What if she had the wrong address? What if they'd already left because they were having dinner somewhere else? Or—oh, _maybe I should have rung the doorbell._

She tried that, and sure enough, a few moments later footsteps could be heard moving closer to the door. And then, when the door opened, all the doubt Karen had about whether this was Anthony's house washed away as there was a pretty redhead now standing in the doorway.

OK, not pretty, this woman was straight-up gorgeous, and she looked a whole hell of a lot like Anthony. An older sister, maybe? He hadn't told her about any other siblings beside Jolene, but younger siblings tended to be easier to discuss. This woman looked about Karen's age, a little younger maybe, and she wore thick-rimmed glasses that magnified her striking green eyes. So…at least she and Anthony differed in that regard. The eye color, not the glasses. He definitely had a pair of those.

"No," the woman said immediately. "No, you'll have to find someone else."

Karen's stomach turned. _He must have told them…_ "I'm sorry, I'm—,"

The redhead laughed. "Is that Diana's feeble attempt at bribery?"

"Who?" Karen asked, confused.

She nodded towards the plant, an eyebrow raised.

"No, these are for—,"

"Look, I'm sorry that you had to come all the way down here," the woman did sound genuinely apologetic. "But I'm sure you can find someone without a family to cover for today. I made it abundantly clear that I wasn't available."

"I don't—I'm not sure—," _what the hell is she talking about? Oh God, maybe this isn't the right house after all!_

But then Karen heard more footsteps approaching and a second female voice say: "Babe, stop bullying the Mormons." before a blonde woman slid into view, looping her arm around the redhead's waist.

This woman was older. 50, maybe. 55, with a broad, happy smile and sparkling blue eyes that quickly lit up with realization. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "You came!"

OK, so this was the right house, and both of these women looked awfully familiar, and not just because of their obvious resemblance to Anthony. The blonde was—umm—she was Poison Ivy's psychiatrist! And the redhead was— _oh, fuck_.

"This is Karen," Dr. Quinzel was explaining to…was explaining to Poison Ivy. "Anthony's friend."

"No," Ivy disagreed. "This is Bumblebee, and Diana sent her to try to convince me to cover a shift today."

"N—No," Karen found her voice, although it was shaky. "I'm b—I'm both." Her eyes fell to the arm Dr. Quinzel still had wrapped around Ivy's waist, and their relaxed body language and their matching wedding bands and— _Yeah, I didn't sign up for this._

Karen started to slowly back away, and Ivy's reaction was to roll her eyes before a vine shot out of her wrist and yanked Karen inside, Dr. Quinzel quickly shutting the door behind them.

"Again, my sincerest apologies, Darling," Ivy said as green pigment began to seep into her complexion. "But I'm afraid we can't let you leave now."

Karen's heart began to beat faster as she took off her glasses, and—yeah, that was Poison Ivy, alright. And of course she was Anthony's Mom. Karen should have known better than to think a guy that perfect could be human.

And…think of the devil. "Karen?" Anthony asked from the foot of the stairs. Although this was a slightly different Anthony than the one she'd grown accustomed to. For one, it was 2pm and he was still wearing pajama pants, his hair was disheveled and his cotton t-shirt said "Feed me, Seymour". The Anthony she knew was fully dressed, with his breakfast in one hand and his coffee in the other by the time the sun was up, his hair styled and…for the life of her, she couldn't recall him ever having worn (or owned, even) a t-shirt with print on it. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm—," Karen was having an exceedingly difficult time getting her words out in full, fluid sentences. "I had a speech I was going to—I brought these flowers, and—you're a plant, aren't you?"

"What? No, I'm not a—," then he noticed Ivy down below him. "Oh, goddamn it, Mom! What are you trying to do?"

"We already know each other!" Ivy exclaimed, sounding frustrated. "She's my colleague!"

"Wait," a third female voice said from the top of the stairs, drawing everyone's attention. "You mean Anthony's screwing a superhero?" That was Jolene. Karen recognized her from—well, lots of places—but mainly from that Gatorade ad youtube wouldn't let her skip. "Which one?"

"Bumblebee," Ivy told her.

The girl's brow furrowed in concentration for a moment before a wide smile stretched her lips and she disappeared from sight, yelling: "this is too perfect!" over her shoulder.

"Wait, what do you mean you're—," but Anthony was cut off when something fell from the landing above them and he had to lunge to catch it.

It was an action figure. Karen's Bumblebee action figure.

Jolene jumped down after it, somehow landing on her feet despite the fairly significant drop. "Alright," she laughed. "So next time you guys wanna make fun of me because Jason jacks off to Mom, just remember that Anthony totally saved up all his allowance to collect his girlfriend."


	46. Chapter 46

"Dr. Isley," Karen began, still feeling a bit shell-shocked. "I've read your reports on your work creating humanoid plant specimen…but I was under the impression they had a radically shortened lifespan and limited mental functioning. However, I've observed nothing atypical about Anthony's presentation…"

"Hey!" Anthony piped up. "Do you think you could refrain from discussing me like I belong in a petri dish? I'm not a humanoid plant specimen, I'm a plant-human hybrid, and I don't present as atypical because I'm not—aside from an increased metabolism and various other _minor_ physiological abnormalities."

"Yeah, like this one!" Jo grinned as she karate chopped him in the neck.

Anthony sputtered for air, and in his fight, lost control of his pigment, turning his natural shade of pale mint green.

Karen was watching the scene with a look of horror on her face, and Pam directed a plant to slither out of its pot behind them and smack Jo in the back of the head.

"Ouch!" Jo exclaimed, "What the hell was that for?"

Ignoring her, Harley moved on, bringing focus back to Karen's question. "Anthony is mine and Pamela's biological child, same with Jo. There's nothing to be freaked out about, really…see?" she nodded over at her son, who had returned to a more typical skin tone.

"But—OK, I hate to point out the obvious here," Karen rocked back in her chair. "But…you're both women." Then she narrowed her eyes, realizing maybe that was too simple a categorization. "You are both women, right?"

Pam sighed, "like many flowering plants, my plant DNA is unisex. Harleen provided the X chromosome, I provided the Y. Although it's not quite as simple as that, it's as thorough an explanation as is required for these circumstances."

"You're a flowering plant?" Was Karen's next question.

Ivy rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, causing a crown of white daisies to spring up in its wake. Silently, she plucked one off and handed it to Karen. "I suppose I could attempt to pull a rabbit out of a hat next, if you'd like."

"No, I—I think I'm good," Karen mumbled as she stared down at the flower in her hands, absently twirling its stem between her fingers. "Why are you married to your psychiatrist?"

"Because I asked and she said yes," Pam answered like it was obvious. "That's typically how these things work."

"So…you said you had a speech?" Anthony prompted, getting the conversation back on track before they descended too far down that rabbit hole.

"What?" Karen yanked herself back to the present moment.

"A speech," Anthony repeated. "You said you had one."

"Oh, right, yes…" Karen cleared her throat. _Here goes nothing?_ "I was going to say that I'm sorry." she nodded, decidedly. "I'm sorry that I didn't take you seriously, but more importantly, I'm sorry that I didn't give myself a chance to take you seriously." She set the flower down. "I definitely wasn't planning on telling you this in front of your parents, and definitely not in front of Poison Ivy—but it seems it's all a package deal now, so…Look," she adjusted her sitting position. "I met my husband my Sophomore year of High School, and…that was supposed to be it, you know? I loved him from the first moment our eyes met and maybe there's a part of me that still loves him now—but the point is I gave that relationship—I gave _him_ everything I had and everything I am and I ended up alone because—at the end of the day—Mal had a difficult time dealing with my ambition. I was too busy or too distracted or too—I don't know, too similar to him, maybe…or too different, who knows? So that's…that's the lesson I learned from love. If you work too hard on yourself, or work too hard _for_ yourself, there will be no room for anyone else."

Anthony started to try and rescue her, but she cut him off.

"—But then I met you, Anthony, and you were so…supportive…so patient, and I thought 'this is the kind of husband an ambitious woman deserves', but I didn't think I could be that woman because happiness, or complete fulfillment didn't apply to me—or at least I thought it didn't because I was afraid and hurt. I still am, actually. It's sort of ridiculous, really, when you think about it…I go into battle every day—powerless, aside from my suit—I fight aliens and mass murderers and psychopaths, but the shit that keeps me up at night is the reality that I might get my heart broken again." Karen took a shaky breath. "So, I—I know you can't promise me you won't, just like I can't promise you I won't break yours or that everything will work out—but I think—I think maybe I want to try. Or…you know, I did…before…you know," she gestured to his family.

Harley was crying at this point, Pam was looking mildly impressed and Jo's grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Well…" Anthony began, lightly clearing his throat as he got up from the other side of the table to circle around to her. "Firstly, let me just apologize for my appearance. I feel a bit silly dressed like this given the subject matter of this conversation…"

"Umm…apology accepted." Karen offered, her heart thrumming in her ears (for no apparent reason).

Anthony smiled. "As for the rest of it…how about you come to dinner—since you're already here—meet my extended family, and then decide whether or not my plant DNA disqualifies me. Fair?" He held out his hand to help her up.

/

"Anthony!" Carrie exclaimed, flying into his arms as soon as she flung the front door open.

"God…" Anthony laughed, twirling her around. "You're still so short!"

"Yeah, I'm 22, Asshat." She reminded him once her feet were back on the ground. "Not exactly holding out for a late growth spurt."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What's with the nose ring?"

"I'm expressing myself! What's it to ya?" Carrie moved on, "Jo-blow," she grinned.

"Care Bear," Jo acknowledged with a nod.

"Dr. Q, The Missus," Carrie happily greeted Harley and Pam. "And…" she cocked her head at Karen. "One'a these kids is doing its own thing."

"Sorry," Anthony stepped in. "Carr _ie_ , this is Kar _en_. Carrie is my—,"

"Cousin?" Karen guessed.

"No, my lesbian Bizarro." Anthony informed.

"I'm not—I'm not a lesbian," Carrie assured Karen as Anthony walked past her into the house…until she got a critical look from Pam and quickly corrected: "I mean, I wish! I wish I was a lesbian!"

Jo laughed, pulling Karen inside with her, Harley following with a smile. Pam was last, and she leaned in as she passed her, whispering, "I'd prefer not to be defined by my relationship, Caroline. How about we try 'Pamela'?"

Carrie swallowed. "Y—yes, Ma'am."

Smirking, Pam patted her fondly on the head before continuing into the first room, navigating the tedious floor lay-out in hopes of eventually arriving at the kitchen. When she did, Selina was leaning over the oven, wearing an apron with what appeared to be Catwoman's body printed on it.

"Jesus, took you long enough," Selina said when she noticed her. "Thought you guys were gonna flake for a second."

"Yes, well…we had an unexpected visitor." Pam told her.

"If Jo's pregnant…"

Pam scoffed, coming to sit down at the long kitchen island. "Fortunately, her body treats foreign substances—such as sperm—as an invader, and combats it much like the typical human immune system would handle bacteria."

That took a moment to sink in. "So…just to recap…" Selina began, "your kid is pissed at you because she feels like you've kept her from living a normal life…and now you're telling me she can't have kids either? When are you gonna drop that bomb on her?"

"Oh, no, she can have children," Pam assured. "Just not by traditional means. She'll need a fertilized embryo to be implanted by someone familiar with her unique physiology."

Selina raised an eyebrow. "In other words: you?"

"Yes, correct." Pam nodded. "If there were a science award for best parent, I think I'd be the clear front-runner."

"That's—you're psychotic," Selina realized.

"Mmm…that's a three-syllable word for any thought too big for little minds," Pam smiled. "Now, how inedible is your turkey?"

"What do you care? You don't eat meat." Selina reminded her.

Pam waited, her brow arched expectantly, watching Selina's concentration.

Eventually, the brunette sighed, defeated. "I know there's a gay joke in there somewhere. Just…imagine I made one, OK?"

"Fine," Pam granted. "I'm offended. Now, are we ready to eat? I brought mashed potatoes and carrots and Karen brought…cheese."

Selina rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Pam? Her name is Carr _ie_. She's your son's best friend."

"No, Karen is my son's girlfriend and the unexpected visitor that delayed our arrival." Pam informed her. "Now get that shit out of the oven. Perhaps my daughter will choke on it and we'll all be better for it."

Now it was Selina's turn to wait, and the apology erupted out of Pam within five seconds: "I didn't mean that! I love Jolene with all my heart and I don't know what I'd do if—,"

"—Please leave this kitchen before you get your sap all over me." Selina pointed to the door. "Ooh! There's definitely a gay joke there…hold on…"

"Harley will appreciate the pun, at least." Pam offered.

/

"So that's…Batman." Jo heard Karen whisper to Anthony.

"The former Batman," Anthony corrected. "That ray of sunshine over there—his son…" he nodded at Damian. "Is the current Batman. Jo is Batgirl, they call Carrie 'Oracle', she's the eye in the sky, basically has access to every camera in the city…that's my Godmother, Barbara," he nodded over at Babs, "former Batgirl and Batwoman, current Gotham City Chief of Police…and that's her husband, Dick," Karen's eyes followed his nod. "Former Robin and Nightwing, now retired. And—uh—he scanned the table to see if he was missing anyone. "That's Poison Ivy, but you already knew that…umm…Mom is the retired Batwoman, now she works as the team psychiatrist. I'm sure you can understand the need for one of those in this line of work…"

"And who's that?" Karen asked, indicating Selina, who was nervously glancing at the turkey as Bruce carved it.

"Oh, that's Catwoman." Anthony chuckled. "Or, Aunt Selina, as we know her."

Karen seemed confused. "The jewel thief?"

"Well…her skills are a bit more diverse, but yes." Anthony acknowledged.

Karen frowned, still not totally getting it. "Why did the Bat-family invite a thief to dinner?…with the Chief of Police?"

"Because she's married to Bruce," Anthony quickly explained. "OK, well, not legally married, but they've been together in one form or another for the past—shit—hey Selina?" he raised his voice so that she could hear. "How old were you when you met Bruce?"

"Anthony Quinzel, where are your manners?" Selina demanded. "You never ask a woman's age."

"21." Bruce answered for her. "And the answer to the question you didn't ask that Selina's already outraged about is '65'."

Anthony did the math quickly, turning back to Karen. "So 44 years."

Karen's eyes were wide with disbelief, but Jo had to tune out the conversation when her phone buzzed in her pocket. "Idiot," she mumbled as she typed a quick reply.

Jo cut into her turkey with gusto when it finally arrived, pouring a healthy portion of gravy over top. See, the thing about an accelerated metabolism is that you have to eat like all the time, and Jo decided she was hungry enough to brave a big bite of Selina's turkey, which actually…wait a minute. "You gotta be kitten me right meow!" Jo exclaimed. "This is totally edible! No, good, actually!"

Selina broke out into a beaming grin. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Jo smiled back, swallowing her first bite.

Damian silently nodded as he ate, but Jo thought she may have seen the corner of his lip curl up into a smirk for a moment when he caught sight of Selina's flushed features.

This time, when Jo's phone vibrated, her leg was pressed up against the wood of the table, so everyone heard it.

Pam rolled her eyes. "Jolene, don't you think whoever that is can wait?"

"It's Jason," Jo murmured distractedly as she replied to the message.

"If he so desperately needed to speak with you, he should have been here." Pam told her.

"Well…careful what you wish for," Jo said, getting up and heading for the entrance. She opened the door to find Jason…clearly un-showered and still wearing his greasy work uniform under his leather jacket.

"What the fuck, Jay?" Jo hissed. "I told you to dress up."

"You're not the boss of me," was his response…and she could smell liquor on his breath.

"Dude, are you fucking drunk right now?" Jo closed the door behind her, pushing him further back on the porch. "I told you this was important to me!"

"No," he said, matter-of-factly, shoving her hand away from his chest. "I'm not drunk, I had _a_ drink, and I didn't dress up because I don't really care."

"Oh, you don't care?" Jo laughed, mirthlessly. "Perfect. Do you care about me? Like—at all? Because you sure as shit sounded like you did last night."

It took him a moment before the memories started coming back, evidently, but when they did, he looked apologetic. "Oh, yeah, sure I do, Baby…" he tried to wrap his arms around her waist, but she pushed them away, keeping him at arm's length.

"Don't even think about it, Jackass." She warned. "I made one request, and it was that you show up presentable to meet my family for the first time. You're better than this," she reminded him before opening the door once more. "And this whole 'me believing in you more than you believe in yourself' bullshit is getting tiresome. I'm 16. It's ridiculous that you're asking me to be the adult here."

"I'm not asking you to—,"

"—Yeah, that's right, your behavior requires it." She snapped. "And now I sound like my mother, so congratulations."

"At least you have a mother…" he mumbled, starring down at his shoes.

 _Ugh!_ "Fine." Jo rejoined. "If I, or if this relationship means anything to you—Actually, you know what? I'll raise the stakes. If you ever want to see me naked again, you're going to zip up your jacket, walk inside, and smile for my parents. Please."

Jason rolled his eyes, complying with her request and zipping up his jacket. "Maybe I have a mom after all…"

Jo chose to ignore that comment, leading him inside and back to the dining room. She smiled once the table was in sight. "Guys…" she got everyone's attention. "This is my not-boyfriend-for-legal-purposes, Jason. Jason…" she waited for him to catch up before taking his hand in hers. "This is my Aunt, my Uncle, my Brother, his might-be-girlfriend, my Godmother, my Godfather, my Mama, and—,"

Pam was studying Jason with a critical gaze. "Is he inebriated?"

 _So she noticed. Great. This is getting off to a great start. I've got a good idea! How about we make it worse?_ … "And that's my older sister, umm, Penelope." She indicated Pam. "And her husband, Damian." Jo decided to punish him as well for the look of disgust on his face. "They're extremely happily married. Like…can't get enough of each other. Have lots of sex because Penelope is attracted to men. Obviously. Just…loves them. Their bodies and all their parts."

Pam snatched her hand away from Harley's, which she'd clearly been holding below the table, looking thoroughly pissed off.

"She's also a dolphin trainer at SeaWorld," Jo added, just for good measure. "Go ahead, Penelope. Tell Jason about the dolphins."

If Jason thought there was something weird going on, he didn't let on, instead just pulled the empty chair away from the table and sat down, his eyes trained on Pam.

After glaring at Jo for another moment, Pam slowly turned her attention to Jason, and calmly began: "Their penises are retractable and have incredible dexterity. Picture…I don't know…a monkey's tail."

Harley was clearly biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Male dolphins have been known to wrap them around the legs of human women and drag them to the bottom of their enclosure where they then forcibly—,"

"Alright!" Anthony said, a nervousness to his tone. "Enough about the dolphins, Penelope."

Pam shrugged. "Suit yourself. It's a truly fascinating subject."

/

When Jo announced Jason would be leaving after dinner (news that seemed to surprise him), Selina's first reaction was to wonder if he was fit to operate a motor vehicle. She thought maybe she should call him a cab, but ultimately decided not to on the grounds that she didn't really care one way or the other. So she just waved goodbye when Jo walked him out.

Pam was glowering in the corner, likely wishing she could get drunk, Harley was well on her way there, and Karen was sitting next to Selina, watching the scene with a slightly anxious curiosity.

Anthony came up behind Pam and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, smiling as he said: "Cool your jets, Miss Piss. We already have our designated grumpy goose for the day."

Slowly, a begrudging smile crept onto Pam's lips. "You used to have the best grumpy face…" she told him.

"The best." Harley seconded. "A pouty lip in my own image."

Anthony laughed, walking a few big steps backwards and taking Pam with him, pulling her in from the outskirts of the conversation.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it," Selina murmured.

"…John 1:5?" Karen asked.

"Mhm…" Selina nodded. "That's Ivy, I think—if you're sitting here trying to figure them out." She told her. "She's so angry and powerful, and there is a sickness in her, that's for sure. A twistedness. But—as soon as a light is introduced, whether it be Harley or Anthony or even Jo holding it…it will always shine through."

"And what about Anthony?" Karen wondered. "What's his darkness?"

"Mmm…" Selina collected her thoughts on the subject. "I think…he just wants to be a good man. For her…" they watched him pull Pam down onto the couch next to Harley. "And for them…" Selina smiled. "And for you, and for me, and for Jo…there's a lot of pressure on him—the first man that Poison Ivy ever loved…it's a big responsibility." She glanced over at Karen. "I don't know anything about your relationship, but the fact that you asked me leads me to believe there's some doubt…"

"So?" Karen prompted. "What's the verdict?"

Selina shrugged. "I don't see the woman—whomever she may be—who ultimately chooses him regretting it. So, if that happens to be Karen Beecher…then lucky you."

/

"Alright…maybe you should slow down a bit on the wine," Pam suggested. "Or—you know—stop altogether. Yeah, I think that's what I'm going to suggest," she leaned over to take the glass from Harley's hand and set it on the coaster.

The blonde made a weak protest, but was spread out in such a fashion over Pam's lap that she didn't exactly have the best leverage. So, ultimately, she forfeited, watching as her wife took it away.

"I'm jus' try'na get drunk enough for the both of us," Harley defended herself. "Cuz Jo's so meeeeaaannn! So mean to you, Pam-e-love."

Pam bit her lip at the new nickname, hoping she wasn't blushing.

"And it—it makes me so sad, ya know? Cuz she's our baby and stuff and she's got the best cheek that I jus wanna _squish_! And it makes me sooooo mad because I know that guy! That's exactly the sorta guy that I'd be shakin' up with…"

The redhead laughed. "Oh?"

"Yeah!" Harley doubled down. "'Member when she was a baby? She was such a happy baby…"

"No she wasn't," Pam laughed again, setting the record straight. "She was an awful baby. She cried all night, every night. You just weren't there."

This fact deeply saddened Harley. "I was jus' too busy bein' awesome, I guess." Her Gotham accent was back in full force.

"Yes, that's why…" Pam pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Stop it," Harley giggled, pushing her face away. "You don't wanna kiss me."

Pam raised an eyebrow, amused. "And why's that?"

Harley's cheeks were bright red. "Cuz, you're like…really sexy n' stuff." She hid her face in her hands. "Why would you wanna kiss an old lady?"

"Mmm…because there's this one old lady who I happen to really like," Pam smiled, placing a kiss on the fingers that covered her wife's forehead.

"Who?" Harley asked, her words coming out muffled.

Pam bit down on her finger to stop herself from laughing again. "Well…she's sitting on my lap…"

Harley ripped her hands away, affronted, her eyes furiously scanning the couch before they found her own legs. "Oh," her smile was sheepish. "It's me, huh?"

"Oh my God!" Selina sat up in her armchair. "How drunk are you? Seriously."

"Oof," Harley snuggled her face into the crook of Pam's neck. "Super waster to the max. Hey!" she suddenly looked over at Selina. "You guys think I could pull off a late-life-crisis? It's sorta like a mid-life-crisis but age appropriate for ladies like us. Cept for Pammy, she doesn't get to join our knitting club, Kitty."

"Ugh," Selina observed her with something between disgust and amusement. "Is that what I used to sound like?"

"No," Pam assured her. "You were infinitely more unpleasant. At least this is relatively endearing."

"Bitch, I am hella endearing!" Harley caviled. "So, anyway…" she immediately calmed down. "I was thinkin' maybe I'd dye my hair."

"Please don't," Pam and Selina said in unison.

"Nah, come on! Half and half! It'll look funky and cool," Harley told them.

"'Funky' and 'cool' haven't been synonyms since 1979," Selina informed her.

"Pfft, whatever, Kitty," Harley snorted, waving her off. "You're just a party pooper, is all. Love is supporting her choices," she said. "And Pammy loves me, _really_."

"Are you the 'her' in this scenario?" Pam wondered.

"How bout I just dye the tips?" Harley pleaded. "Red, white and blue. For America!"

Both Selina and Pam were laughing at this point. "That's a terrible idea," the brunette told her.

"Really?" Harley seemed legitimately surprised. "I think it'll be real classy. Don't hate the player."

/

Jo sat in the hallway, behind a suit of armor, watching Harley drunkenly ramble on about things there was no way she'd remember saying the next day.

"Stupid…" she mumbled, an odd mixture of guilt and jealously thrashing around in the pit of her stomach.

"Just a suggestion…" Jo jumped at the sound of Damian's voice, hitting her head on the metal above her. "Don't make decisions solely to piss off your parents," he continued on like nothing had happened, handing her a slice of pumpkin pie. "Oh—and don't bring that asshole into my house again."


	47. Chapter 47

"Well, I don't really care," Jo said as she stomped up the stairs, Pam hot on her trail. "It's not up to you anymore. I'm 18, I've got a job—my life, my choice."

"Well it's a stupid fucking choice!" Pam yelled, following her into her bedroom, which was partly packed up in boxes.

"I don't care!" Jo whipped around. "I don't have to care about your opinions anymore. I'm sorry you don't like him, but you screaming at me right now isn't going to change my mind."

" _You_ don't even like him!" Pam forcefully reminded her. "It's one thing to want to attend a community college rather than a university—there, that was a choice that I respected, you laid out your reasoning with intelligence, and I understand: your life goals are different than mine or your Mother's were, or Anthony's are. But don't try to act like _this_ decision has anything to do with you and Jason."

"Who the fuck else would it have to do with?" Jo demanded. "I'm moving in with him, Mom!"

"No, you're moving _away_ from me and into a situation that I have made very clear I disapprove of," Pam corrected. "And why? Why is it you despise me so thoroughly? What could I have done differently? Because it feels to me like I checked all the fucking boxes. I encouraged you to set goals, we loved you every day, reaffirmed your intelligence, taught you to be a capable young woman, allowed you to be an individual, allowed you to push back and be angry with us when you needed to, gave you space when you asked for it, pulled you close when you required comforting…there are few children who have been given more opportunities in this life than you, Jolene, and yet, every olive branch I offer you spit and stomp on."

"Ugh! Don't you get it? This is exactly why!" Jo screamed, quickly approaching hysterics. "You don't fucking listen! It's not about me, it's about you, it's always about you, and so when I set a goal that I told you over and over again I wanted to achieve, you didn't care! You didn't care because it didn't have anything to do with you! Instead, you fucking gaslighted me for 10 goddamn years and then nullified all my victories and accomplishments in one fell swoop! Just—ripped the fucking floor out from under me!" she grabbed one of her trophies off of her desk and snapped it in two over her knee. "Meaningless, all of it. But, hey, at least my cancer's in remission now, right?" she tossed the broken plastic into her garbage bin in the corner.

"Pamela," Harley's voice was calm from the open doorway. "Let her go."

"I'm not going to—no! I'm not going to let her go!" Pam couldn't believe her wife was siding with their daughter on this. "This is a mistake; anyone can see that. Anyone whose head isn't shoved up their ass, that is. Why would I just willingly let her make a mistake?"

Harley shrugged, moving into the room and beginning to pack Jo's clothes away into one of the empty boxes. "Because she's going to do it anyway. And maybe this way, when she realizes what a colossal, asinine mistake she's made, maybe she'll come back to us." She shoved the box into Jo's arms. "I'm trying my best not to burn bridges."

Jo snatched the box and started back down the stairs, leaving Pam and Harley alone.

"Harleen—," Pam's tone was pleading. "We can't—please, this isn't right."

Harley sighed, moving forward to brush Pam's hair out of her face. "Babe, unless you want to lock her in the basement, we're sort of out of options. She's right, she's 18…really not much we can do."

"Why are you so fine with this?" Pam wanted to know.

"Oh, is that what it looks like?" Harley asked. "Yeah, no, I'm not fine. Like…not even a little bit. I'd like nothing more than just to go around smashing shit with a hammer right now…but it is what it is, and my mistakes led me to you, so…maybe she'll get lucky."

Pam buried her face in her hands, pressing her palms into her eye sockets. "Our daughter is an idiot," she mumbled.

"Lord," Harley flopped down on the bed. "You can say that again."

/

Anthony looked up from his computer when a box was dropped in front of him.

"Happy anniversary," Karen said, sitting down across from him at the table.

Anthony raised a suspicious eyebrow, "Bee, our anniversary was two months ago and you forgot it."

"Fine, happy belated anniversary," Karen corrected, grinning. "Now will you open it, please?"

Anthony could see that she was excited, giddy, even, which wasn't exactly typical, so he studied the box carefully. Rectangular in shape, the box was white with a red ribbon tied around it. "You mean this?" he teased. "This is what you want me to open?"

"You're gonna feel like a real dick when you figure out what it is," Karen smirked, getting her phone out of her pocket and aiming the camera towards him. "Now come on, let's see it."

"Is it…my finished thesis?" He asked, pulling the ribbon off. "Because that would be ideal."

Karen giggled. "No…"

"Why are you recording me?" he laughed.

"For your Mom, she asked me to," she explained.

"Which one?"

"Ivy for Harley—it doesn't matter! Just open the damn box!" Karen had crossed into anxious by this point.

"Alright, alright, damn," he snickered, pulling the lid off the box…and then his smile immediately melted away. "Karen…?"

"Yeah?" she giggled, the camera shaking a bit in her hand.

"Are you…are you serious right now?" He asked, tears gathering in his eyes as he pulled the positive pregnancy test out of the box.

"Why would I joke about this?" she laughed. "That would be a pretty cruel, wouldn't it?"

"Well yeah, but—," he wiped his tears away. "I just—I didn't know that I could, even…"

"Ivy's been helping me," Karen admitted. "She came up with a fertility medication because I figured, if I'm not going to marry you, we may as well get the rest of our lives on track."

"You—a baby?" his language skills devolved as he stared down at the plus sign on the display.

"No, I'm not a baby," she laughed. "We're having a baby."

"But…but Doom Patrol," he reminded her with a stutter. "They need you! They need—you can't be a pregnant superhero. What about your career? What about—are you sure this is what you want?"

"Hey, superheroes get maternity leave too," Karen chided. "And yes, I'm sure."

"Ha, I can't believe this is really happening," he ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling. "And, Mom!" he turned to the camera. "You asshole, you were in on it?"

"Hey, but Harley wasn't, so no cussing on the video," Karen scolded.

"The only person with a dirtier mouth than Ma is Jo," Anthony laughed, getting up from the table and wrapping Karen up in his arms. "I really don't think she'll mind."

"Fair enough," Karen grinned as she shut the camera off, setting her phone down on the table so that she could hug him back. "I'm excited," she whispered.

Anthony's smile was euphoric as he turned his head to kiss her on the cheek. "I love you."

/

"This your Mom's or your sister's?" Jason asked, kicking the wheel of the car as Jo pulled into the parking structure.

"It's mine," she said, getting out and slamming the driver's door behind her. "A graduation present from my uncle. Something you would have known if you'd bothered to come."

"That was like four months ago," Jason reminded her. "You need to quit beating that dead horse. I told you something came up."

"Something always come up," Jo ridiculed, yanking the back door open and grabbing the first of maybe 6 boxes from inside.

Jason proceeded with caution. "Are you—uh—are you on your…you know…"

"Dude," Jo wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream. "Are you 25 years old and incapable of uttering the word 'period'?"

"Well I was gonna say 'on the rag', but I figured that might be insensitive, so…you're welcome," he told her.

"Yes, thank you, oh gracious Master Jason," she bowed in front of him. "Such sensitivity you exhibit."

Jason rolled his eyes, "Alright, Yoda. You want any help?"

"Umm…yeah," now she was laughing, but not exactly thanks to a humorous situation, it sounded much more panicked than someone who was actually enjoying themselves. "I assumed that was implied."

It took 30 minutes for them to get everything inside, mostly because the walk from the parking structure to the Jason's apartment building—to their apartment building wasn't exactly brief. Actually, it was about four blocks. Jo had never bothered to ask what the deal was as she usually took the bus over or got a ride on Jason's motorcycle, and he was able to park that out front.

"And just for the record," Jolene started their previous conversation up again as she set down the last box on the table. "Women can be in a bad mood for reasons besides menstruating."

"So what is all this stuff?" Jason asked, ignoring her and plopping down on the couch, pulling a box over and slicing open the lid with a knife he had in his pocket.

"I don't know, my stuff," Jo leaned against the counter. "Clothes and…stuff." _#SoEloquent_. "Did you clear out some drawers for me?"

"Yeah, two." He nodded towards the bedroom as he picked through a box filled entirely with gym clothes. "You sure do work out a lot…"

"Yes," Jo acknowledged. "And you're grateful for that."

"And I'm grateful for that," he repeated with a snicker, moving on to the next box. "What's this?" he asked, lifting one of her gymnastics medals out and holding it up for her to identify. "This whole box is full of them."

Jo turned to the sink to pour herself a glass of water, saying: "Just some shit I used to be a lot prouder of."

He was silent behind her, but she could hear the sound of the metal and plastic clinking together. "You won all these?"

"That I did," Jo exhaled before gulping down her water in its entirety (and making a mental note to buy a filter). She turned around to find Jason standing near the wall, the box at his feet. "Under the sink there's a tool box, grab me the hammer, will ya?"

Jo complied, bending over to open the cabinet and digging through the tool box a moment, tossing aside various screw drivers, a wrench or two and a crowbar, before finally locating the hammer and walking it over to him. "Why?"

"Because I'm gonna hang these up," he answered like it was obvious.

"Why?" Jo repeated, nonplussed.

Jason shrugged. "Well I've never won anything…figured we should have something to brag about around here."

/

Harleen grinned giddily down at her pasta, well aware that she likely looked ridiculous, but too excited to control herself.

"You're scaring the pasta, Darling," Pam intoned from across the table.

"Yeah, but—Pam," she looked to where her wife was picking at her salad with notable melancholy. "But hey, Pam. Hey, but, Pam."

The redhead slowly raised her gaze, likely realizing Harley wouldn't stop until she was acknowledged. "Yes?"

"Two words: Interracial. Grandbaby." Harley spelled it out for her. "I mean—it's basically gay Christmas."

That comment seemed to confuse Pam. "Do gays celebrate a different—,"

"I think it'll be a boy," Harley decided. "And he will be very cute and round."

Pam's frown deepened. "Why do you think it'll be a boy?"

"Because girls are terrible and I hate them," Harley answered quickly. "But then again, I did an awesome job raising you, so…"

"Knock it off."

"My little Penelope," Harley cooed, leaning across the table to squeeze Pam's cheek. "All grown up."

"Stop it," Pam smacked her hand away. "It's not funny."

"It's a little funny," Harley tried to stifle a giggle as the waiter returned.

"Good evening, Ladies," he smiled. "How is the night treating you?"

"Oh, just fantastic," Harley answered before Pam had a chance to shoo him away. "My daughter here is in town for a forensic pathologist's conference and kindly invited me—her mother—out for a quick bite to eat. Speaking of which, young man, would you kindly bring us a dessert menu? Penelope here has a terrible sweet tooth, but when in Rome, right? Or—when in Gotham, I suppose."

"Forensic pathologist, huh?" the waiter crossed his arms, smirking, and…yeah, Harley no longer existed. "Aren't you a little too pretty to be smart? I mean—that's just unfair."

"Mmm…" Pam winced, shaking her head. "I hate that line."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect," he chuckled, before his brow furrowed when he noticed Pam clenching and unclenching her fist. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"They're just sore," Pam's smile was cloyingly sweet. "See, when a corpse comes into the morgue, typically the second step in an autopsy after performing the y-incision is to crack the ribs so that I can access the chest cavity. The instrument I use is not unlike a pair of bolt-cutters, or...say…gardening shears. And having to break each rib individually can be rather trying on my poor, delicate, feminine ligaments. Afterwards, of course, comes organ removal, each being extracted with surgical precision and then weighed individ—,"

"—I'm sorry, Ma'am," the waiter interrupted, suddenly turning to Harley. "I'll grab you that menu."

Harley smiled after him as he scampered away from their table. "I think you might'a scared him off…"

"Ya don't say," Pam mocked. "And will you please stop introducing me as your daughter? It's not a fun game."

"Sure it is," Harley laughed. "That poor boy…how old do you think he is? Anthony's age?"

"This isn't helping make the situation any less creepy."

/

"Goddamn, you're an ugly motherfucker, aren't'cha?" Jo laughed at the— _seriously, what the hell is that?_ She had to duck when the animal took a swipe at her. "An ugly motherfucker with claws, copy that. Uh—hey, guys?" She clicked on her communication device as she, again, dodged one of the animal's paws, sprinting away and clearing the fence into the park, hoping it would follow.

And yeah, it definitely did.

"Guys?! Carrie?!"

She could feel the ground shake behind her with each of its steps, and it was quickly closing in, the stench of its breath somehow reaching her nostrils even at the speed she was moving.

Turning quickly, Jo whipped a batarang at it, and the animal yowled as the weapon sliced a gash in its shoulder.

 _"_ _Yeah, Batgirl, you're coming through loud and clear,"_ Jo heard Carrie's voice in her ear. _"What's up?"_

"I'm heading into Robinson Park with a—shit—I don't even know what! A fucking hyena in pursuit." Jo said, sliding under a log into the creek basin and starting up the opposite bank. "He's fast and big and I just thoroughly pissed him off."

 _"_ _I'll send Damian your coordinates."_

 _"_ _No need, I've already got them,"_ Damian's voice sounded unduly calm.

"Then why aren't you—ah!" Jo yelped at the feeling of sharp claws digging into her calf muscle. He got in deep enough to stop all of her forward momentum, and before she knew it, she was on the ground, her face in the mud.

Twisting, she slammed her heal down on his paw, forcing him to retract his claws and giving her enough time to throw another batarang. The position was awkward, but even side-arm, she was able to get enough velocity on it that it broke the animal's skin, sinking into the center of its chest.

It yowled again, and Jo rolled away as it swiped wildly at her. By the time she was on her feet, the monster was on the ground, Damian standing over it, wrenching its arms behind its back and pressing the animal harder into the ground with his heel, forcing the batarang further into its chest.

Spitting the mud out of her teeth, Jo plucked the rope off of Damian's utility belt and used it to bind the animal's wrists (as she didn't trust normal handcuffs could hold it).

As soon as Jo was done with that, she shot up and punched Damian in the chin (being that it was the only patch of bare skin she could find). "What the fuck, dude?! Really took your sweet-ass time getting over here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I late?" Damian asked, his tone pointed as he subtly adjusted his jaw. "Sounds familiar."

"W—are you serious?" Jo couldn't believe it. "Dude, I was 10 minutes late tonight and I fucking apologized! So you decided to punish me by letting me get chased down by whatever he fuck that abomination is?! What kind of a psychotic, Anal retentive motherfucker—,"

"Woof." Damian intoned.

"I—I'm sorry?"

"That's its name," he explained. "He was a criminal whose DNA was spliced with that of a hyena."

"That's…I think that's maybe the worst name I've ever heard," she realized, glancing at the animal below their feet.

"Yes, well, the procedure seems to have significantly blunted his intelligence," Damian informed her, grabbing the rope and yanking the animal up to its feet.

"OK, well—we'll get back to you later," she smacked Woof in the back of the head, following as Damian dragged it down the bank and through the stream. "You let your petty frustrations endanger my life, Batman. That's not teamwork. In fact, it confirms my suspicions that you make a piss-poor team leader. You're a selfish prick, you know that?"

"If you can't take down a villain named 'Woof' by yourself then you don't deserve to wear that symbol, Batgirl." Damian told her. "And clearly you're fine, so how about you demonstrate a little self-esteem and quit letting brutish imbeciles of inferior intelligence walk all over you."

"You know…I'm beginning to think this isn't about Woof at all, or about me being late." Jo realized. "This is about why I was late, isn't it?"

"What you do on your own time is—,"

"—Oh, shut up. You just told me I'm not an idiot," Jo reminded him. "So quit treating me like one. I'm fine. I can take care of myself. But, hey—maybe you and Ivy _should_ get married. You'd have a lot to talk about."

"I'm sorry—did you not just punch me in the face for not helping you when you asked for it?" Damian feigned confusion.

"'When I ask for it' is the key phrase there, Batman. Don't overstep."

 **Author's note: and no, I did not make Woof up. Woof is real.**


	48. Chapter 48

Author's note: perhaps this chapter should be rated 'M'. Not for sexual content, though...

Jason sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time—again.

He could still make it over to the gym to pick Jo up from work in time to catch the movie…he just wouldn't have time to take a shower or change.

Or Jo could drive herself over to the theater and he could go home to take a shower instead, then meet her.

 _I'll ask her_ , he thought, opening up a blank text message before reconsidering. _No, just tell her_.

He was beginning his message confirming he'd be there to pick her up when the door opened behind him and Paris Franz strode in.

"Jason, my man."

And what Jason wouldn't have given to punch that slimy smile off his face… "Franz," he nodded with all the false respect he could muster.

"I'm a very busy man, Mr. Todd. You should know that," he sat back on his desk, grabbing his stress ball and squeezing it in the palm of his hand. "So what can I do for you? Whatever it is, I hope it will be worth my while."

"I need a job," Jason said quickly, trying to be mindful of the time. "I can go back to bouncing, that's fine, I just need to supplement my income a bit."

Paris raised an eyebrow. "Found yourself a nasty habit?" He chuckled. "What is it? You into that new synthetic shit?"

"No, it's nothing like that," Jason straightened his jacket. "I've just got a girl living with me now and my place is a dump. I'm looking for an upgrade."

"On the girl or the place?" Paris laughed. "I guess a little extra income could get you both."

"Nah," _I think we're at like maximum upgrade there_. "You know that girl you always see Damian Wayne with on the gossip rags?"

"Mmm…" Paris narrowed his eyes, thinking. "Ginger?"

 _Strawberry blonde_. "Yeah, that's my girl."

Paris laughed. "I'm gonna be honest with you here, Man: that's fucking wack. She must be seriously fucked in the head. But, hey, you know what they say about the crazy ones…"

"Yeah, I need a job, Franz. That's why I'm here." Jason snapped. "You got something for me or what?"

"OK, OK, struck a nerve there," Paris chuckled, putting his hands up to keep Jason at arm's length should he choose to punch him. "Yeah, you can bounce, but we've adopted some new policies since you left."

"Like…?" Jason prompted.

Paris circled around his desk, typing a code that opened the safe in the wall behind it. "Like these," he said, tossing Jason what looked like a credit card sleeve. "Your quota is $2,500 a week. Athletes—high school and collegiate—are your main targets, but if you're going to sell them at the club, do it out back. The goal is to keep this looking like a legitimate business."

"What are they?" Jason asked, emptying the contents of the small package into his palm. "Nicotine patches?"

"We call them Slappers," Paris told him, sitting back in his chair. "They'll help you feel like a man again."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well…" Paris put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. "6 years ago you came in here and told Cobblepot you were done with this whole scene. Gave some 'honest man' speech, thanked us for our time, walked out…and yet, here you are…back in this office…" there was something cruel in his smile. "She must be incredible in the sack."

 _Do people even say that anymore?_ "Your point?"

"You seem a little whipped, my friend, that's all," he shrugged. "Might do you some good to assert some dominance."

 _God, he's such a fucking prick_. "Thanks for the relationship advice, Cosmo," Jason gritted, standing up. "Just give me something to sign and I'll start tomorrow."

Jo was standing in the lobby of the gym discussing something of seemingly great importance when Jason pulled up.

She didn't hear him, and he didn't have a horn to honk, so he sighed, shutting off the bike and setting his helmet down before heading inside.

"—heat, ice, shoulder rotations," Jo was saying to a girl Jason guessed was about 12. "Whatever you have to do to come in fresh tomorrow—make it happen. Practice makes perfect and you're far from perfect on the bars."

"It's because my wrist still hurts!" the girl defended herself.

"That cast came off three months ago and I've been working with you on grip ever sense," Jo told her, her tone stern. "You're afraid your wrist will hurt, or you're afraid you'll get hurt again—look, I get it, it's a totally rational fear, but visualizing that stuff, obsessing over it—that's just going to increase the likelihood it happens again. You want to get back in rotation, right?"

"Well…yeah," the girl mumbled, staring down at her sneakers.

"Alright, good," Jo smiled. "We want to get you back in there too, but we can't move forward until you have."

"Hey," Jason stepped in, haste in his tone, as that conversation seemed somewhat finished.

Jo nearly jumped out of her skin, but placed her hand over her heart when she saw it was him. "Jesus Christ, Jay," she laughed. "You scared the crap outta me." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and the girl began to giggle.

"Coach, is that your boyfriend?"

"Darn it, you've picked up on our incredibly subtle clues," Jo teased. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow for bar warmups."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the girl grinned, waving her off. "Coach's got a boyfriend, coach's got a boyfriend."

"Yes, it's quite the scandal," Jo acknowledged as the girl stole one more look at Jason before snickering and walking out the front door. "She's cute," Jo smiled, turning to him. "And 12, so if you're looking to trade me in for a younger model…"

Jason sighed. "Should'a seen that one coming."

"Here," Jo handed him the duffle bag that was slung over her shoulder. "There's a change of clothes in there for you, figured you might be late so I thought I'd cover all our bases."

"What is it?" he asked, cautiously eyeing the bag as he took it from her.

"Jeans and a t-shirt. When have you ever worn anything else? Now hurry up and change," she shooed him towards the restrooms. "The previews are my favorite part."

Jason had been working for Franz a week when he first saw someone actually use a Slapper.

He was a big guy naturally, one of the other bouncers on Jason's shift. The guy was tired, he'd been working since the sun went down and it was nearly sun-up at this point. So he reached into his pocket and pulled out his stash—the product he was supposed to sell—and slapped one of that patches onto his arm.

"Hey, Man," Jason got his attention, "if you wanna piss Franz off, don't do it around me. Getting shot in an alley isn't how I'm planning to go out."

"How am I supposed to recommend the product to my costumers of I can't vouch for it myself?" the bouncer asked, wincing slightly as the veins in his forearm below the patch pulsed.

…In another two weeks, Jason tried one himself.

Franz had asked him to take a guy out back…and Jason just happened to know this guy had ties to a whore house down in Central Gotham…one that specialized in trafficked minors. Jason wasn't super into that. And—for the record—he didn't exactly know Jo was 15 when they first hooked up. She seemed older, looked older…he'd just assumed she was a senior. Sure, he probably should have shut it down when he got the full picture…but he liked her, and she acted relatively mature, so— _fuck it, I don't have to explain myself, she's 18 now anyway. Get off my ass._

Anyway, Jason had seen how people changed when they had a Slapper on. They got stronger, faster…angrier, sometimes…not that Jason needed any help with that, but the truth was, he was tired too. Working from 8 until 5 every day, and then going back to work at night was killing him. But it would all be worth it, eventually. He could just picture Jo's stupid, happy, impressed expression on the day that Jason would hand her the keys to their new house. Yeah, that's right, a fucking house. And then her sister would stop calling every two seconds or shitting on him every time they were forced to be in the same room. God, he hated that bitch, she and her stupid, rich prick of a husband. Why Jo was pictured with Damian more than his wife was, Jason had no idea, he guessed dolphin training was a time consuming profession.

So Jason yanked the guy outside, throwing him onto the ground before reaching into his pocket. With a deep breath that he tried to keep as subtle as possible, he dipped into his supply.

It hurt, a bit, at the application site. The skin tingled and burned while his veins pulsed, drinking in whatever sort of poison was in that shit.

Jason had kicked somebody's teeth in before, but he'd never literally curb-stomped a guy…that was a new and interesting experience…but Franz tipped him for the extra damage, so everything ended up working out alright.

That morning, after his shift, he somehow still had energy. In fact, he might have even classified his mood as "good", so he dropped by the store on his way home and picked up a box of chocolates for Jo that he had to force himself not to eat while he waited for her to get back from her morning coaching session.

"Fuck, I am starving," she said as she opened the front door. "I know I have to go shopping, but do we have—like—any food? Any at all?" she tossed her keys onto the counter and her bag onto the couch. "Did I mention I hate adulting?"

"Yeah, once or twice, maybe," he held up the chocolates for her.

"Wha—are you shitting me right now?" she asked, taking the box from his hand. "Please don't tell me I'm going to open this and just find a bunch of wrappers." She shook it, and her face lit up with a happy grin. "Heart chocolates at 7am? What did I do to deserve you, my prince?"

He shrugged casually, "I don't know—but…I know how you can repay me…" he pulled her down onto his lap.

"Fine, fine," she nodded, leaning down to kiss him. "But can I eat the chocolates first? Or during, if I have to?"

"Can you just give me like 10 minutes?" Jason asked.

"So…what you're saying is I get chocolate instead of an orgasm." she looked disappointed.

"If you shut up and let me get started, you can have both."

"Hooray!" Jo cheered.

Jo was funny. And not just 'funny ha ha', like…funny in the head, maybe. That's something Jason learned about her after she moved in.

She was chaotic…but that fact seemed to stress her out. She didn't like doing the dishes or cleaning the house, but when it wasn't done, it made her uncomfortable. She'd glance at the mess and tap her foot nervously until she finally caved…but then she would still manage to half-ass it.

This is the type of shit Jason had never cared to notice before, but his diet of one Slapper per day was helping him see more. Funny what a little extra energy can do for you.

Jo texted with her brother a lot…he and his girlfriend were having a baby, evidently, and he sent a lot of pictures. Ultra sound photos, pictures of the crib or the clothes he was buying, or his girlfriend's growing stomach…Jo loved those. She showed every one to Jason with a beaming smile on her face. Honestly, he could really care less, but he tried his best to humor her because when he didn't, she got pissed.

It wasn't that Jo was an unhappy or an angry person by default, no…her typical setting was happy. Sarcastic and bitter, sure, but she didn't seem to hate herself or hate her life…and she certainly didn't seem to hate Jason, which was always a relief for him. No, Jo just had thin skin. She could go 0 to 60 in a millisecond and could hold a grudge like nobody's business. They were similar in that way. Jason wasn't as quick to anger, but he could hold onto it longer. Hold it over her head if he needed to.

Jo also made a point to talk to her Mom at least twice a week. Sometimes in person, sometimes on the phone…the only member of her family that she didn't seem to talk to regularly was her sister, who—at the beginning—tried to get in touch with her more than the rest of them combined, and that always managed to throw off Jo's mood. Recently, though, the calls had been coming less frequently. Which was better, Jason decided. Better for him and better for Jo.

She'd come home with a plant pretty soon after moving in. He didn't know what kind, but it had red flowers and it sat by their bed when she slept. She always put it in the closet when they had sex, and when her sister would call, she'd pluck a petal off of it and crinkle it in her fingers, studying her hands as she did.

Yeah…Jo was funny…and a total bitch, but she typically ended up on his side, so what did he care? Not like he was any better. Well, he was slightly better on Slappers, that was for sure. Maybe even a decent boyfriend, actually. He sort of…liked coming home at the end of the day knowing there would be someone there who cared about him, despite what her family thought…she loved him enough to choose him—sometimes over them…and yeah, he didn't want to get all sappy about it, but he liked this. He liked their life, he liked himself. Well, this version of himself, anyway.

The problem Jason was running into was that—like with anything else—his body seemed to be building up an immunity to what he was taking, so after a month, he was forced to up his Slapper consumption to two a day, and then eventually to three at the same time. He was tired otherwise, lethargic…and worst of all, he couldn't get—umm—excited. Not without a Slapper…and then not without two…and not without three…or four…

And the rage he felt because of it was something he didn't know how to bottle up inside. He was 25 years old! This shouldn't be a problem! Besides that, he was going into his stash so often now that he was going to come up short of this month's quota.

His fuse was short, his anger intense, and though he did his best to hide it from Jo, it was becoming impossible. Every sound, every color, every word...he couldn't stand any of it. It was like everyone and everything had an ice pick that they were using to burrow through his ear…into his head…and they were hammering from the inside now. All day and all night.

That morning, he needed 5 just to get out of bed.

/

"Hey!" Jo greeted when she heard the front door slam shut. She was on her knees, her head buried under the sink, but she felt pretty confident it was Jason, and if not…she could probably kick their ass. Besides, they didn't have anything cool to steal, so she wasn't sure why anyone would bother trying to rob them. "This sink won't drain. Do we have any Drano or anything?"

"No," yeah, that was Jason…and he didn't sound super happy. _Great. What else is new?_

"OK," Jo said, knocking on the pipe with the crowbar from the toolbox, trying her best to determine where it was clogging. "You think you could go out and get some before you head to work? I was gonna take a nap."

"Don't just fucking bang on it, you idiot," Jason snarled.

"Well I'm sorry I'm not a licensed plumber, asshole," Jo laughed, backing herself out and standing up, getting her first look at him since this morning. He seemed awfully…jittery, clenching and unclenching his fist, his jaw tight, his pupils dilated… "Are you alright?" she asked, somewhere between cautious and critical. "You look fucking insane right now."

He moved suddenly, digging his fingers into her hips and shoving her against the sink, then moving in to kiss and bite her neck.

"Dude, what are you doing?" she laughed, attempting to push him away. "Look, Man, if you wanted to try again, that's—ow! What are you, a fucking vampire?"

He grabbed her hands, forcing them down to her sides before pressing his body against hers and trying to plunge his hand down her jeans.

"Jay, knock it off!" she slapped him across the face. "Geez, I mean, I'm down for alotta shit, but buy a girl a drink first."

His response was to grab her by the shoulders and slam her onto the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She'd never known him to be this strong, or this rough…or not to take a very clear 'NO' for an answer.

His breathing was labored and shallow, sweat had accumulated on his brow, and yeah, he did look insane, like a guy that belonged in a straitjacket up at Arkham Asylum.

"Jay! Jay, stop!" Jo was starting to panic at this point. It was like he couldn't even hear her…and despite her training and her athleticism, she couldn't get out of the hold he had her in either.

He grabbed her hands and yanked her arms above her head, pinning them to the ground so that he could rip the neck of her tank top down and expose her bra.

Anxious tears were gathering in Jo's eyes as the attempted to free herself by thrashing her lower body. She couldn't even see him anymore. He wasn't even there. His gaze was crazed and blank and she had no idea what was going, but this was by far the most frightening experience of her life, even after 3 years of being Batgirl. "Get off of me!" she screamed.

Jason took one of his hands away from her arms to unbutton his pants, and despite his (currently) superior strength, her adrenaline helped her to wrench one of her arms free. Her hand closed around the only object she could reach, and she conked him in the head with it.

It was cold and metal and he grunted in pain when it made contact, so she swung again, connecting with his skull once more.

The second blow sent him into a daze, and in a moment, Jo had reversed their positions and swung 6 more times in rapid succession, each blow doing more damage.

She didn't stop when she saw blood, or when it splashed onto her face, or when his eyeball began to come loose from its socket…It was when he stopped moving and twitching below her that her swings slowed before ultimately coming to a stop.

The only sound in the room was her breathing…and then the clanking of metal on the tile floor when Jo dropped the crowbar.

"What the fuck?" she whispered, hoarsely. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!" She scurried off of his body, backing herself into the corner of the room. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

She looked down at her bloodied hands and her breathing sped up again, tears spilling down her cheeks in her panic and confusion. When she blinked, her tears sprinkled her chest and she realized her shirt was still pulled below her bra. Sniffing, she yanked it up, almost vomiting when she braved another glance over at the body.

Her chest heaved as she sunk down to the floor, now unable to take her eyes off of the carnage splattered all over their kitchen, but her attention flew to the door when she heard it creak open.

"Jolene…"


	49. Chapter 49

Pam quickly scanned the room, taking in her surroundings…the blood spatter on the cupboards…the body…and then Jolene, huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with fear.

"Jolene," Pam spoke, her tone even, but soft. "It appears you made quite the mess."

The girl scurried upwards to a standing position, and with tears streaming down her face said: "Mom, it's not what it looks like!"

"Hm," Pam squinted, giving the room another look over, slower this time. Noticing the bloodied crowbar and Jason's sunken in skull, his absence of distinct facial features…Everything above his chin was now, essentially, an indistinguishable pile of human…mush. "It looks like you bashed your boyfriend's head in with a crowbar."

"Mom, I didn't mean it," Jo sobbed. "He—,"

"—attacked you." Pam acknowledged. "Yes, I know. I saw. That's…why I'm here, but it appears you did my work for me."

"But I didn't mean it!" Jo repeated, desperately, running forward and grabbing Pam by the lapels of her overcoat. "Mom, it was just like the dreams!" tears were still falling in a steady stream down her cheeks. "He was on top of me and I could feel him pressing into my stomach and I couldn't move my arms and in the dreams I can never move—," she buried her face in the soft fabric of Pam's sweater. "I knew what he was gonna do, Mom," her voice was muffled now, and Pam could already feel the salty liquid beginning to soak through onto her chest. "I've seen it happen a million times."

"I know, Sweetheart," Pam soothed, rubbing calming circles on Jo's back as she held her.

"And I couldn't stop," Jo sniffed, her breathing becoming gradually more shallow until she was essentially hyperventilating. "My—heart—was—in—my—ears—and—I—was—so—scared," she heaved.

"I know," Pam reiterated, kindly, not letting her go. "I know exactly what that feels like."

"Everything—was—fine—and—then—he—pushed—me—against—the—sink—,"

"Jo, Honey…how about you take a few deep breaths first." Pam suggested, planting a gentle kiss to her forehead. "He's not here anymore," she murmured against her skin. "It's just you and me."

Jo took her Mother's advice, even though it was clearly very difficult for her. Her rapid breaths were replaced by full body tremors and then shivers before she finally attempted to speak again. "He didn't—he didn't mean it. He wouldn't h—hurt me like that."

"Well that's a nice thought, Darling," Pam granted. "But I find it's difficult to trust a man who chooses to be with a 15-year-old girl."

"It wasn't like that," Jo sniffed. "He wasn't like that. That wasn't him. He wasn't him."

Pam wasn't quite following, and Jo was likely in denial…but it felt so good to hold her again that Pam would have said almost anything to keep her in her arms. "Was he under the influence of an illicit substance?"

"No!" Jo rebuked separating slightly to look her in the eye. "No, he wouldn't! His Mom overdosed right in front of him, he would never…"

And now she was contradicting herself. Pam sighed, using her sleeve to wipe the blood off of Jo's cheek. "I think you should go home."

"But—I am home," Jo wiped the tears away from her eyes.

"Not anymore, Sweetpea," Pam whispered, this time kissing her on the top of the head. "Go home and explain to your Mother what happened. I'm going to stay here and clean up."

"You mean—like—Olivia Pope style?" Jo asked, her voice hoarse from crying.

"I have no idea who that is," Pam told her. "Are you OK to drive?"

Jo nodded silently, wiping her nose. "I really didn't mean to kill him."

"I believe you," Pam assured her, giving her daughter a reassuring squeeze on the wrist. "Now put that hoodie on and keep your head down, please."

Jo did as she was told, taking one more look around the apartment and then down at the body before grabbing the aforementioned hoodie from the couch and pulling it on over her tank top.

"I blame myself, partially," Pam sighed, kneeling down next to Jason's body after Jo had left. "Or—I suppose it's the first Jason who should shoulder the majority of it, seeing as it's he who provided her the anxiety in the first place…" she studied the man below her, contemplating how best to handle his disposal. In the old days she would have just fed him to her pitcher plants…but the Justice League had taken those away on her first day out of Arkham 36 years ago and never given them back. _Pity…_

She supposed she'd have to disintegrate, or melt him down, like Selina did with Joker's body all those years ago, meaning she'd have to transport him back to her lab.

 _Well, fine_ , Ivy sighed again, realizing that—anyway she sliced it—she had a long night ahead of her.

 _Hmm…dismembering him would make for easier transport…but goodness, that sounds exhausting_.

"Oh!" she snapped her fingers, smiling. "Why chop when you can pull?"

She searched through the pockets of Jason's jeans. _Men typically carry knives, right?_

Her prize she found in his back pocket. The knife was small, but it seemed sharp enough to do the job.

A vine slithered down her thigh and Ivy watched as it exited through the skin of her ankle. Doing a quick measurement in her head, she stopped it once she felt it was at the appropriate length and bit down on the sleeve of her coat as she sawed through it.

Ivy repeated that process three more times before directing each length of vine into a separate corner of the room to search for something to anchor themselves on. She then instructed the free ends to choose the limb that corresponded to their position and secure themselves around a wrist or ankle.

"Oh, shoot," Ivy supposed she should have stripped him naked first, that way she wouldn't have to rip through skin, muscle, ligaments, tendons _and_ fabric…

"Sincerest apologies, my darlings," she exhaled. "Just give me one moment."

They immediately obeyed, uncoiling themselves from his limbs and lying in wait as she yanked Jason's jeans off, then his boxer shorts and jacket before electing to cut his long-sleeved t-shirt off rather than try to pull it over the crime scene that was his misshapen skull.

When he was finally naked, Ivy cocked her head curiously at the dark welts sprinkled over his forearms, biceps, pectoralis muscles…and then these raised portions on his Gluteus Medius and abdominal muscles…they looked a bit like—nicotine patches?

Ivy dug her fingernail under the edge of one and gently peeled it back, finding that it left an identical welt to the others that littered his body.

Huh…

She got up quickly, walking to the kitchen in search of a plastic baggie. Once she found one, she closed the patch inside and slipped the bag into the pocket of her jacket.

"Go ahead," she told her vines, and they eagerly resumed their positions.

 _Pu—no wait!_

Ivy took her own jacket off and laid it neatly over the back of a chair before pulling her sweater off as well, mumbling "I really should have brought some equipment".

After a subtle groan, she bunched up the sweater and put it in her mouth, picking up the knife again and slicing down her wrists, then kneeling on the floor once more and placing her open wound on Jason's shoulder and then hip joints.

His skin smoked as the poison began eating its way through.

Ivy exhaled, dropping the sweater from her mouth and wrapping it around her wrist (ruining perfectly good—and exorbitantly expensive—cashmere). "The things we do for our children…"

 _Pull._

/

"Where's Jolene?" Bruce asked, watching Karen as she set up her presentation.

"Carrie?" Damian turned the question over to her.

"Target practice," she told them. "Same as every night."

"God—what the fuck is her problem?" Damian asked, getting up. "It's clear we all hate her, but she didn't used to be this mopey on top of it."

"I don't hate her," Carrie dissented.

As did Bruce: "I don't hate her."

"She's still trying to process her breakup," Harleen revealed. "I'd suggest a little sensitivity."

 _That was like a month ago, she needs to get over it._ Damian started at a jog towards the training room where he watched her for a moment through the window before shutting down the simulator and stepping inside.

Jo's immediate reaction was to spin around and whip a batarang at him. Damian ducked, and it sailed passed him, sticking in the wall behind him at eye level.

"You could have killed me just then," he gritted, trying to get his heartrate under control.

"Al Ghuls always manage to dodge these things," Jo said, tossing her utility belt aside. "Just keeping you on your toes."

"I'm not an al Ghul," Damian snapped. "I'm a Wayne."

"I'm not an Isley, I'm a Quinzel!" Jo mocked. "It's all the same difference. Now why the fuck did you end my simulation?"

"Because you've been down here for two hours and you're the one who encouraged Bumblebee to take on this project in the first place," Damian reminded her. "Now quit being a moody bitch because your boyfriend broke up with you and get changed."

"I'm being a moody bitch because it's my time of the month, and he _did not_ break up with me," Jo set the record straight.

Damian rolled his eyes. "I could really give a shit less about the specifics, Jo. Congratulations: you broke up with him. Now get upstairs."

Jo took a sip from her waterbottle. "What do you know about Slappers?"

"Cheap steroid," he told her, not totally sure why she felt the need to start this conversation right now. "But the market is oddly far-reaching. They seem to be selling them on the club circuit too. Why do you ask?"

"Well…what if I told you they weren't cheap?" Jo asked. "And that—according to my Mom—Jason's violent behavior the night he attempted to rape me and I killed him was likely due to an overdose of a very special ingredient that's baked into those things."

"Wait—you did what?"

"You heard me," Jo intoned, somewhat casually. "He was wearing 5 Slappers when it happened. Now c'mon, you gonna guess the secret flavor or what? I'll give you a hint—it took my Mom back to the good ole days."

"Excuse me for needing a little time to process…" he trailed off as she leaned into his ear.

"Venom," she whispered. "Bane's venom."

He pushed her away when her lips brushed against his ear. "Don't Poison Ivy me. Just say 'venom' like a normal person."

"Oh, you liked it," Jo snorted, pushing past him and heading for the door.

 _T—the ven—wait!_ "What are we going to do about it?"

"About the fact that I breathed on you and you blushed like a cherry tomato? Shit—I don't know, Man," Jo shrugged, turning around. "You might need to get laid.

"Shut up," Damian snapped. "You know that's not what I meant. And I know you think you're hot shit but…you're really not all that hot."

"Pfft, sure, Buddy," Jo chuckled. "You know there are women you can pay for that kind of thing, right?" Jo asked. "Lord knows you've got more money than God…"

"That's not—shut up," he repeated. "What are we going to do about the venom? The effects can be—,"

"Adverse?" Jo laughed. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Jason was a dealer, it turns out. Took me a bit, but I tracked down his boss. Paris Franz, you familiar?"

"Unfortunately."

"He's not smart enough to manufacture the stuff himself," Jo told him. "So how about I talk to him and you start looking for the source?"

"Are you just assuming the source is Bane?"

Jo shrugged. "You're free to prove me wrong."

/

"Let me just start out by saying that, Mr. Wayne—you have been an inspiration to me since I began in this field," Karen told him. "And everything I've done with this project comes from a place of respect. With that being said…perhaps it's time to go beyond Batman. Your designs and technology were—of course—advanced for their time…but we're entering into a new era of innovation, technological especially, and being that everyone in here is a superhero without powers, I'm sure I don't need to stress the importance of evolving along with it."

"But Batman has never been about just the suits or the gadgets," Damian argued. "It's about the skill of the wearer."

"I'm sure she's aware of that fact, Damian," Bruce assured. "She's worked with Tim before, after all. She understands our goals here."

"Yes, I—thank you, Bruce," Karen nodded. "And Damian, I absolutely understand your concern, Jo voiced a similar opinion. Honor the past, embrace the future. That was my goal here. So…Jo?"

Harley watched her daughter step out in front of them wearing the updated suit, her cowl remaining off for the moment, but the material framed her face, so none of her hair was visible. "That's…awesome.."

"Holy crap!" Carrie exclaimed. "That's awesome!"

Karen smiled. "As you can see, we've streamlined the design... the material is lighter and the majority of its functioning's are internal. It's intuitive, see. Like, this material is extremely breathable, but then when there's an attack incoming—," Karen stabbed downward at Jo's chest with her pen, but just before the tip made contact, thin metal panels slid out to cover the area, and so the pen glanced off, falling out of Karen's hand and down to the floor. "It's self-armoring. But if you don't trust it to know when or where to react, manual mode will automatically employ the defensive layer. Jo?" she prompted.

Jo raised her forearm and a panel slid back revealing a small display. When she clicked on the screen, the suit reacted just as Karen said it would, the panels sliding out of every surface (besides the green portions).

"You kept the solar panels?" Harley asked.

"Yes," Karen nodded. "And I want to apologize for copying off of your homework, Mr. Wayne, but I couldn't exactly improve on them. I did slightly increase their surface area so that the suit wouldn't need to charge for as long during the day, but otherwise…can't fix what ain't broke."

Bruce chuckled. "I appreciate that."

"So where's the utility belt?" Cass asked. "Because I only really see a buckle."

"Ah, yes, that too is mostly internalized." Karen told her. "Anthony programed the suit to recognize what you're reaching for and provide it for you."

"How?" Damian asked.

"Well, we had it memorize what you kept in each compartment of your typical belt. Jolene, you need your grappling gun."

Jo reached behind her back, and when she brought her arm back to the front, the gun was in her hand.

"Now a batarang," Karen instructed.

With her free hand, Jo reached to her right side and, like a disc player would spit out a DVD, a batarang was ejected from her suit.

"Good, but you don't need to use it."

Jo pushed the weapon back into the same hole, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come, the panel sliding back into place.

"Then where the hell did the gun come from?" Harley demanded, her mind sufficiently blown.

Jo turned around to show her the empty compartment before placing the gun back in. Like with the batarang, the suit reacted immediately, closing the tool inside, but this one didn't retract back into the suit. It looked like one of the utility belt compartments, just sleeker and without the belt.

"So then what's the buckle for?" Damian asked. "Why have a buckle when you don't have a belt."

"Well," Karen smiled, "It's not so much a buckle as a button." She prompted Jo with a nod.

Smirking, Jo pressed the button and a pair of wings—with an obvious bat-inspired design—unfolded from her back. "No capes," Jo said proudly, putting her hands on her hips.

"So we can fly now?" Damian was incredulous.

"It's more like extended gliding." Karen corrected. "But with a decent wind, you should be able to stay in the air for a while. Now, as for the cowl…" she leaned over and clicked the screen again on the inside of Jo's forearm, and the cowl began to close into place, coming from the top and bottom before it shut completely over her face.

To say Harley found the finished product jarring would be an understatement. The eyes of Jo's cowl glowed the same green as the solar panels…but more alarming than that was the panel spread like a giant, green smile where her mouth should be. But it was exaggerated, stretching from ear to ear and glowing eerily just the same as the other highlighted portions on her suit.

"Are we—um," Harley cleared her throat. "Feeling inspired by certain dead psychopaths?"

"I just want people to know I'm happy to be kicking their ass," Jo said, and when she spoke it was through a voice modulator that sent a chill down Harley's spine.

"Is that really necessary?" she asked.

"Oh, right, yes, I also plan to equip everyone with a voice modulator," Karen told them. "I find it odd only Batman's suit had it before. Were you just banking on people not paying enough attention when women speak to be able to identify them by voice?"

With a begrudging sigh, Harley pulled her phone out of her pocket and began to type a text message.

"What are you doing?" Bruce asked.

"Texting that to Pam," Harley told him before setting her phone on the desk in front of her. "She'll love it." A moment later, the phone vibrated and Harley grinned at the reply.

"What did she say?" Karen asked.

"She just discovered emojis, so it's just a crying face, and then a laughing one and a thumbs up." Harley snickered. "She's so cute."

"God—get a room," Jo groaned, although it sounded oddly menacing through her cowl.

"I will!"

Bruce cleared his throat pointedly, attempting to get everyone back on track. "Does the cowl have any other features?"

"The typical accessories you would need to carry around, like night vision equipment, are incorporated into the eye sockets and can be switched on at any time using the control panel." Karen explained. "Jo's base color for the eyes is green because she has an entire solar layer beneath the suit's exoskeleton. That's unnecessary for Cass and Damian, so their eyes should glow white…or…whichever color they choose, I suppose."

"Mm," Bruce grunted, nodding sagely. "How long will it take to get the other suits produced?"

"Well I have the designs finished," she said. "So…I'd like to meet with Cass and Damian individually to look those over and see if they have any input or wish to personalize them at all like Jo did with her cowl. Once we're through there, if you give me the go-ahead and the funds are provided I should have these done by this time next month. If this little guy doesn't pop out and ruin my momentum, that is," she chuckled, placing a hand on her stomach.

Harley grinned. "I think it's all fantastic, Karen. Amazing work, really. And how you managed to incorporate all that stuff and still make it—you know—sexy, is beyond me."

Karen laughed. "I did place a special burden on keeping it aesthetically pleasing, yes. I've always been a fan of the Batman and Batgirl suits myself. The robins could probably use a little work, but lucky me, you all don't have one of those right now."

"We're looking," Bruce assured her. "But I think the answer is yes, you've got the green light, and lab space if you need it."

/

Jolene stood on a rooftop watching the side door of the Iceberg Lounge. Franz had arrived a half hour ago tailed by two bodyguards, but from her week's worth of stakeouts she knew that both liked to take a cigarette break around this time, before they actually had to start performing their duties.

It was 10pm now, and most of the business the lounge saw came after midnight, especially the sort of business that required bodyguards.

"Any leads yet?" Jo spoke into her microphone.

 _"_ _I've only been on the clock for an hour,"_ Damian reminded her. _"This job requires some patience."_

"Oh my God, really? I had no idea." Jo's sarcasm was palpable. "Not like I've been working here for three years or anything. Women—when will they ever learn?!"

 _"_ _Let me know how it goes with Franz,"_ Damian growled before shutting off his microphone.

"Bitch," Jo mumbled, watching as the first guard and then the second stepped outside, assuming their positions at either side of the door and pulling their stupid e-cigarettes out of their pockets. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she saw someone smoke an actual cigarette…not that they should, but God those things looked fucking dumb.

"Here goes nothing," Jo took a deep breath and pressed the button that shut her cowl over her face.

Her new wings allowed her to glide right over to them, and they would have smacked her right into the building had she not used the first man's soft body to pad her landing, using all of her momentum and weight to slam his head into the brick wall.

The second guy was a little tougher to take down. For one, he was at least a foot taller than her—she wasn't exactly short at 5'6", but this guy looked like he could squash her with his boot if he lifted his leg high enough. But...see…he also had testicles, and Jo was the type of combatant to exploit that.

A quick knee to his groin and then one to his forehead once he bent over, then a swift jab to his trachea and a metal-knuckled blow to his temple and he was done too.

Jo moved quickly inside, walking down the long hallway to what she knew was the manager's office (Pam had provided her a basic layout of the interior. Evidently she and Selina had spent a lot of time there in their villain days).

She thanked her lucky stars the door was unlocked, and after bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet for a moment, slipped inside.

Franz was sitting behind his desk and looked up from his phone more annoyed than afraid or upset when he saw her. Clearly, he'd had more than a few run-ins with the Bat-family in his time. "Which one are you?" he asked.

"I'm sure it's cliché to say 'your worst nightmare', but…that." Her typical upbeat back and forth sounded far more threatening when filtered through her new modulator.

"Nightmare?" he raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "No, Baby Girl, I see you in my _dreams_."

 _Are you fucking kidding me right now?_ "I'm wearing a mask, Jackass."

"Your body's all I need to see," he assured her, leaning forward, propping his elbows on his desk.

"Unbelievable," Jo laughed, cynically. "I can't even threaten a man without getting hit on." And then…an epiphany. "I think I finally understand my Mother."

"Well…congratulations." Paris granted, although he was clearly confused. "Now what can I do for a distinguished public servant like yourself on this fine evening?"

"The Slappers," Jo said, getting to the point. She really had no interest in being in this man's presence for longer than was strictly necessary. "Who's your supplier? Who's manufacturing them?"

"Oh, come on now," he smiled. "I'm not just going to roll over like that. You're going to have to provide me a bit of incentive."

 _Fine._ "Shoot."

"How about you let me see that pretty face of yours?"

"Oh, sure," Jo deadpanned, pressing the button to open her cowl. In her normal voice she then asked: "Should I get on my knees and suck your cock next?"

Now that—yeah, that surprised him, but he pulled his lips into a smirk anyway. "Depends. Do you know what you're doing?"

"Boy, do I," Jo grinned. "Is Bane your supplier?"

"Wait a minute…" Paris narrowed his eyes. "Don't I know you?"

Jo shrugged. "Probably. I was a pretty famous gymnast."

"No…" he shook his head. "No…you're Jason Todd's girl."

"Yes," Jo acknowledged. "And that's how I prefer to be identified. Bane," she changed the subject again. "Where is he? Where are you getting the venom to make these things?"

"You…" Paris chuckled, pointing an index finger at her. "You are a woman of many talents."

"I really am," Jo agreed. "And it's a bummer you're psychotic, because actually, you're sort of my type."

"Really?" he looked almost excited at the confession.

"Yeah," Jo smiled. "Tall, dark, and—," she reached behind her back and pulled out the 9mm she'd substituted for her grappling gun, pulling the trigger and leaving his brain matter splattered on the wall behind him. "—dead now."

Jo reached for her finger-printing kit, and her suit provided her the plastic baggie containing Jason's fingertips that she'd kept frozen for the last month while she tracked down this lead. Carefully, she planted his fingerprints on the gun before returning the baggie to its designated compartment and tossing the gun on the floor.

It had been a birthday gift from Jason, which she found laughable at the time because she was Batgirl and spent her nights defending neighborhoods a lot shittier than theirs…but she'd kept it anyway because he'd gone through the trouble of getting it registered (in his name) and—why not, you know? Just because Bruce didn't like guns didn't mean she couldn't own one.

Jo looked up at the ceiling. "That one's for you, Jay." After a deep breath, she closed her cowl once more and pulled herself up and out through the ventilation shaft above Franz's desk.

A few minutes later, she was on the roof, and then after a run and launch, back where she started, watching the lounge from a rooftop across the street.

The bodyguards were inside by now…they'd find Franz, but they wouldn't call the cops, or talk to them when they arrived. But—if they did, Jolene was willing to bet the GCPD would go off the murder weapon marked with fingerprints by a known delinquent than the word of some thug telling a crazy story about some Batgirl from hell.

She'd thought she'd feel some great weight lifted off of her chest after she killed this guy…Jay complained about his boss all the time, but Jo didn't know who he was until she went through Jason's phone, trying to figure out what those strange patches were that Pam brought home along with Jason's dismembered body.

Franz was in Jason's phone under "Prick" and after meeting him, Jo was inclined to agree with his assessment. Franz was a prick.

She'd devised this plan to solve two of her problems: 1) covering up Jason's murder, and 2) exacting some sort of revenge. Underlings who killed mob bosses usually wound up disappearing, so mission accomplished there. As for the second thing…yeah, it would have to do.

Jo wasn't sure why she was crying now, or why she still felt that anger burning in the pit of her stomach…or why she wasn't more upset at the fact she'd just taken a human life…but for some reason she also didn't react at the sound of Damian's voice behind her.

"You just wanted me away from here for the night."

"Your absence was an integral part of my plan, yes." Jo confirmed. "Couldn't have you ruining my fun."

"Did you kill him?" Damian asked, coming to stand beside her.

"I did…" Jo nodded, still watching the club, but wishing that she could take her cowl off to wipe her tears without him seeing. "Am I fired?"

Damian didn't answer right away, but she could feel his gaze on her during the silence. "My father didn't kill because he believes everyone is worthy of a second chance, and because murder drags you down to their level," he nodded towards the club. "Your Mother didn't kill because she believes in reformation. Poison Ivy is her daily reminder that you can find a light in the darkness." He took a long pause. "I don't kill because I choose to honor my father rather than my Mother. And…" he tentatively rested his hand on top of hers. "I don't mind you needing some time to discover your motivation."

"Are you giving me the greenlight to murder people?" Jo asked, pulling her hand away.

"No." Damian shook his head. "I'm giving you the greenlight to make a mistake or two."

She turned to him. "It wasn't a mistake."

"You're right," Damian agreed. "This was revenge for your initial mistake, no? or _his_ initial mistake, maybe?"

Jo didn't answer, mainly because she wasn't totally sure if she'd ever heard Damian speak with legitimate sincerity before.

"Can I see your face?" He asked.

"No, there's a mask obstructing it."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Can you take your mask off?"

 _Why would I want to cry in front of Batman? Even if it's Batman lite_ … but Jo gritted her teeth and obliged, already missing the smile and the voice modulator when the cold night air hit her wet face.

Swallowing, Damian removed the glove from his right hand and reached out, gently wiping her tears away from her eyes with his thumb. "I don't…like it when you cry," he told her. "It makes me...just…" then, as if riding a sudden swell of courage, he moved forward and kissed her. Not on the lips, but just…awkwardly at the corner of her mouth.

Jo was too stunned to react right away, but when she did it was a full bodied: "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

"I don't know," Damian said quickly, turning away from her.

"Did you just—did you just kiss me? Why did you just kiss me?" Jo demanded. "Not all crying girls want to be kissed, Damian. It's not some magic cure like in the movies."

"Well maybe—maybe I didn't do it for you," he shot back. "Maybe I—did it because I wanted to, OK?"

"What do you mean you wanted to?" Jo asked, following after him as he walked towards one of the large chimney stacks in the center of the roof.

"I don't know what I mean," he said. "You—you frustrate me! All the time! You just—frustrate me."

And that's when Jo stopped walking. "Wait a minute—Dude—do you, like, _like_ me?"

"Oh, fuck you." He stopped too. "Don't—no, I don't—no. I mean, whatever."

"Damian," Jo laughed. "I didn't even know you liked me! Like, just as a human being that you found me even tolerable."

"I don't!" he affirmed. "I think you're awful! I honestly can't even stand to look at you, and every time you talk I have to restrain myself from punching you in the face."

"Then why did you kiss my face, Crackhead?!"

"Because you were sad!"

"Because I was—what? Since when have you cared about my emotional well-being?" Jo wanted to know. "Every other word out of our mouths are typically cuss words, and 95% of them are aimed at each other. I thought your goal was to make me cry. It's definitely mine!"

"Whatever," Damian shook his head. "Fuck you. Your pheromones came in or some shit. This isn't—I don't want to kiss you—I didn't. I didn't kiss you."

"No, you're right," Jo granted. "You really didn't." she pushed him backwards into the chimney stack and pressed their lips together…and he let it go on for waaaaaaayyyy too long to not be into it. "You're so full of shit," she whispered, pulling apart just slightly before looking up at him, a sly smile stretching her lips. "Holy denial, Batman."


	50. Chapter 50

"So whaddya think?"

"What is it?"

"A square."

"Yes…"

"A square that I knitted."

"Ah…" Pam nodded slowly, picking up the oblong yellow 'square' from where Harley had dropped it on her lap. "Yes…well…yes, it's very yellow."

"I bought a bunch of yellow yarn because Karen likes yellow and I thought I'd knit something cute for the baby," Harley explained, happily.

"Right, well…sure," Pam nodded, handing the fabric back to her. "It's very cute—your square."

"Aww, thanks, Babe," Harley grinned, clutching the fabric to her chest. "This was just a practice. I'm gonna get even better!"

"I'm sure," Pam agreed. "But why—pray tell—have you suddenly decided to pick up knitting and scrapbooking?"

"And cooking!" Harley reminded her.

"Of course. How could I forget?"

"It's because I'm gonna be a Grandma, Pammy. There will be things expected of me," Harley informed her. "Grandma things."

"Suddenly the world will be in desperate need of squares of knitted yarn?"

"Oh, knock it off," Harley returned to her couch in a huff. As she sat there, tears began to well up in her eyes and Pam set her book aside.

"Harl, are you crying?"

"No," the blonde wiped her eyes, averting her gaze.

"Oh, Honey, I didn't…I didn't intend that to sound terribly mean spirited." Pam got up, taking Harley's hand as she sat down beside her. "If you enjoy it, learning to knit, or any other ridiculous and unnecessary new hobby, is absolutely a worthwhile use of your time."

"No, it's not—it's not that," Harley wiped at her eyes again. "It's just—it seems like not all that long ago we were murdering people and having babies…and now our kids are murdering people and having babies and it's like…where'd all of it go, ya know?"

Pam laughed, laying back on the couch and pulling Harley down onto her chest.

"And what if the baby doesn't like me?" Harley wondered, propping her chin on Pam's sternum. "And what if we never get to see him?"

"OK, well first of all…" Pam gently pulled Harley's hair out of her ponytail so that she could card her fingers through it. "I have never, in my life, known a child to dislike you. Not even Damian, and that boy is the devil incarnate." Harley nodded sagely, agreeing with her wife's assertion. "Just an absolute rotten egg of a child."

"I think the idiom is a 'rotten apple."

"I would never disrespect apples so blatantly as to compare even the rottenest to Damian Wayne," Pam said quickly. "And, might I add, how dare you?"

"Fine," Harley chuckled, moving to press a kiss to her neck. "I'm sorry."

Pam accepted her apology. "As for the other bit, Anthony taking that position at Wayne Enterprises ensures we'll see the baby quite often."

"Yeah, speaking of which…is Karen crazy? Why would she want to relocate here? It's basically a dumpster compared to San Francisco." Harley said. "And—like—I've lived here my whole life."

"It's closer to headquarters," Pam reminded her. "And the position Bruce offered her pays three times more than Stanford anyway."

"She didn't take that yet, though."

"Yet," Pam repeated. "She will eventually. She'd be an idiot not to, after all, and she doesn't strike me as an idiot."

"Mm," Harley acknowledged, laying her head down to listen to the beating of Pam's heart. "What did you call your Grandma?"

"Ma'am," Pam answered plainly.

Harley frowned. "You called both of your grandmas 'Ma'am'?"

"I only ever met one," Pam revealed. "My Father's mother committed suicide when he was very young."

"Quick—tell me a story about your childhood that doesn't make me want to cry!"

"Can't. Empty set."

Harley laughed. "I called mine 'Grammers' and 'Babushka'."

"Babushka?" Pam raised an eyebrow.

"She was from Lithuania," Harley told her. "Total badass. Survived the holocaust, immigrated here…or maybe she got refugee status, I don't remember. I know FDR wasn't exactly huge on taking in tired, poor and huddled masses, though, so whatever. In any case…yeah, Babushka," she laughed. "And if you ever think I'm eccentric, Gammers was like a whole other level of nuts. In the best way possible, of course."

"Of course," Pam chuckled.

"She raised a career con man, though, so maybe she could have afforded to be a touch more grounded." Harley squinted, thinking on that. "Or maybe not. Maybe my dad was just a…rotten egg."

Pam smirked. "Maybe…" after a moment of simply listening to the rain patter on the roof, she asked a question: "Why didn't I ever meet them?"

"Who?" Harley asked. "My parents?"

The redhead nodded.

"Oh, uh…I don't know…I stopped talking to Pop after I got my degree." Harley told her. "All he did was ask for money."

"And your Mom?"

Harley sighed. "Ma found out about my affair, and…didn't ever look at me the same. So when I told her I was marrying you, she asked what you did…"

"Mhm…"

"And I told her you were a lawyer—which you were, at the time— _my_ lawyer, and…yeah, she wasn't exactly stoked." Harley admitted. "Add that to the whole, 'you're a woman' thing…"

"Hm," Pam furrowed her brow. "I never imagined your family to be bigoted."

"Well they weren't, exactly," Harley attempted to explain. "But my brother was another freeloader, still mooching off Ma's nonexistent estate…and Ma was always soft on him, couldn't see he was an absolute waste of space and that pissed me off. So…I sorta implied that…if she wanted to be included in my new life…that I wasn't gonna tolerate his behavior, and that she shouldn't either."

"And she chose him?" Pam guessed.

"Yeah," Harley confirmed. "It's alright, really. I knew she would. We'd grown apart anyway. I loved her a lot, though. Still do. She died a few years back, you remember."

"I do," Pam nodded. "We went to the funeral…and you didn't introduce me to your brother."

"I did not," Harley acknowledged. "I sacrificed a better relationship with my Mom to cut ties with him. Wasn't about to waste all that for an introduction, no offense."

"I understand," Pam said, pulling Harley's glasses off of her face and setting them down on the coffee table beside them. "And I think—if nothing else—our kids have a better relationship with each other than you had with your brother."

"Hey! That's true!" Harley grinned. "And, after you cleaned up Jo's murder, I'd say your relationship with both of them is better than yours was with either of your parents. So…good parent high five!" she raised her hand.

Pam chuckled. "How about…a kiss instead?"

"Well now I'll have to give you two kisses: one for being a good parent, and one for being a good suggester of things."

/

"You know what's disgusting?"

"You eating ice cream in bed?"

"No, that's normal, healthy behavior that you should probably get used to now." Jo informed him. "No, what's disgusting is that I'm pretty sure you're in love with me."

"What?" Damian sat up immediately. "Where the fuck would you get an idea like that?"

"Umm…well, from the three times you've said it today, mainly."

Damian was appalled at her assertion. "When would I have done a ridiculous thing like that?"

"Well…" Jo took another bite from the ice cream carton. "In the Batmobile first, then…in the shower, and then like 20 minutes ago."

"You mean when I was—was finishing?" Damian looked slightly relieved. "You can't hold that against me."

Jo laughed. "Oh, no?"

"Yeah, no," he affirmed, relaxing into the pillows. "And we really shouldn't have sex in the Batmobile anymore."

"I was actually gonna suggest we increase the frequency." Jo told him. "But fine, whatever, you're not in love with me. Continue living in denial, what do I care?"

He rolled his eyes. "And why would that be _disgusting_? I'm the handsome, intelligent heir to a 9.2-billion-dollar fortune. Don't act like you could do better than me."

"Look, Man, I don't give a shit either way. I'm just saying two months of hate-fucking a girl is a weird time to be throwing that around," Jo took another bite. "To me, it means you were probably Bruno-Mars-I'd-catch-a-grenade-for-you level infatuated before we even started hooking up. Now suddenly those self-esteem lectures you kept giving me make a lot more sense." She laughed. "Or—shit—maybe I'm not giving you enough credit. Maybe it's been longer than that. Maybe you were coming over to play Legos with my brother and thinking ' _dayum_ , that baby can wear a diaper'."

Damian snatched the ice cream away from her. "I don't love you. Why would I love you? I mean, just out of basic self-preservation—you literally murdered your last boyfriend."

Jo didn't respond right away, in fact, the first sound she made was a sniff. When Damian looked over to investigate, he found her eyes had filled with tears. "That's…yes," she sniffed. "That's true."

"Jolene," well now he felt like an asshole…something that now only felt good some of the time. "You don't have to—stop it," he reached over to wipe her tears away. When she didn't stop, he moved the blankets away and crawled over her, kissing her gently until—she began to laugh. Confused, he opened his eyes to find she was now flipping him over onto his back, straddling his hips and pinning his hands down.

"You're totally in love with me," she snickered, leaning down to kiss him. "That's so gay, Dude."

"How?" Damian demanded. "I'm a man and you're a woman."

She ignored him. "My tears are Batman's kryptonite…damn," she grinned. "I hope all this power doesn't go to my head."

/

"Are you worried about the Dow drop?" Selina asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"No," Bruce answered plainly. "Can you pass me a scone?"

"Plain?"

"No, cranberry."

"Cranberry?" Selina was intrigued. "What's gotten into you today?"

Bruce shrugged. "I thought I'd switch things up."

"Oh, OK, I see how it is," Selina nodded slowly, passing him the scone. "Looking for a slightly different flavor."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Looking for a little _zest_."

Bruce nodded, taking a bite. "That's right."

"See, I might usually go with Strawberry," Selina told him. "But today…" she reached for the plate. "I think I'll go for blueberry. You know, in the spirit 'switching it up'."

Bruce chewed, watching her with squinted eyes. "What are we doing?"

"I really don't know," Selina admitted. "Good morning, Jolene." She greeted the girl as she swept into the kitchen, pulling her jacket on, her hair still wet from the shower (Selina guessed).

"Morning," Jo smiled, snatching a scone from the plate.

…and that's when Selina realized something was odd. "Wait a minute, what are you doing here?" she asked as Jo got a mug out of the cupboard and poured herself some coffee. She usually went home after her shift, or took a nap down in the cave before work…but rarely did she come upstairs to take a shower.

"Oh, I was sleeping with Damian," she told them, zipping her jacket up. "I've been doing that a lot lately. Too much, maybe. I'm a terrible influence on him, to be honest."

Bruce choked. "I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, cat's out of the bag," Jo sighed. "If I had more time I'd think of a pun for you, Kitty, but…I'm late for work and young minds are impressionable. Thanks for breakfast!" and with that, she was gone, taking the mug with her. "Oh, and don't tell my Mom!" she shouted behind her before they heard the front door slam shut in the distance.

Bruce and Selina turned to look at each other, both thoroughly confused.

"Did she mean…" Selina began before Damian entered the kitchen…shirtless in pajama pants, drying his hair with the towel that was draped around his neck.

"Morning," he grunted, starting up the cappuccino machine.

Turning around to look at him, Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I feel like you should be in a better mood."

"Why?" Damian asked, his voice all but drowned out by the machine as it frothed his milk. "We still haven't tracked down Bane, Batgirl is still insubordinate, I'm still not totally sold on my new suit, despite its practical improvements on the old design…what do I have to be in a good mood about?"

"Well…aren't you getting laid?" Selina asked, taking a sip from her mug. "Or is it that Batgirl is insubordinate in other areas as well...?"

Damian slammed the machine into the 'off' position. "That fucking—she told you?"

"Oh, yeah," Selina nodded at Bruce, as Damian was unaware that he was the one who'd just confirmed it for them. "She told us all kinds of stuff."

He whipped around, "I don't love her, OK?!" spilling some of his drink down his pants as he did. "She's a liar. Just because you say you love someone three times doesn't mean you actually do, alright? Doesn't matter what you say, it matters what you do."

"And you're doing her, no?" Selina casually took a bite of her scone.

"Just—I have to go," Damian shook his head, angrily dabbing at his pants with his towel. "Father, if you need me, I'll be down in the cave. But if Jolene calls, I am not in."

Selina laughed. "Why would Jo call? She just left, she'll be back tonight."

"Who knows? She's crazy." He started for the elevator. "Certifiably, in all likelihood."

Slowly, Selina turned back to the table after he'd left them alone. "I was not expecting that." She admitted. "Here we were, having a quiet, routine morning and then…shattered."

Bruce agreed with a nod. "I thought zesty scones were going to be this morning's only revelation."

After a moment of silent reflection, Selina reached an open palm across the table, watching Bruce expectantly as she did.

"What?" He asked, glancing down at her hand. "Do you need help up?"

She shook her head, maintaining her silence and tapping her open palm with the fingers of her other hand.

Rolling his eyes, Bruce pulled his wallet out of his pocket and counted out three $100 bills, slapping them down into her hand once it was all there. "Congratulations."

"Took em' long enough, am I right?" Selina laughed.


	51. Chapter 51

"You need to calm down," Karen intoned, fixing Anthony with a look from where she was pacing.

To say Anthony was offended would be an understatement. "I resent the implication that I am not—by far!—the calmest person in this room right now."

"Your Mother is asleep," Karen pointed out.

"No…no I'm not," Pam sat up groggily. "And I resent that imp—,"

"—I hate every single one of you right now, I swear to God," Karen continued to pace. "And that includes the world's most indecisive fetus. He didn't get that from me, either. That's a Quinzel trait."

"Karen, what are you talking about?" Anthony demanded. "You broke up with me and then two days later decided to take a cross-country trip just to apologize. You're literally the least decisive person I know. I, on the other hand, have been fairly blatant with my intentions from the—,"

"—motherfucker, I don't know if you're whitesplaining or mansplaining right now, but either way I. don't. like. it."

Anthony shrunk back, nodding. "Sorry, sorry, you're having a baby, I'll just shut up."

"Yeah, your baby," Karen pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Yours. You did this to me."

"Babe, I am so…so sorry," Anthony took her hand. "I hate myself, and I hate the baby preemptively." He let that ride for a moment as Karen nodded decidedly, satisfied with his statement.

…but Anthony could only let it go on for a moment before he had to set the record straight: "That's a lie, I love him already. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me and he hasn't even happened yet."

"OK, that's it!" Pam shouted, standing up. "We've been here 12 hours, I'm inducing labor."

They all turned to face the door as it was pushed open. "You were gonna induce labor before the midwife came back?" Harley asked, nonplussed. "Doesn't exactly seem like a smart move, Pamela."

"You're not a midwife," Pam pointed out.

"You're right," Harley agreed, setting her bag down. "I'm a doctor."

"So am I," Pam reminded her.

"No, you're a _doctor_ ," Harley put air quotes around the word. "Nice try, but an PhD isn't the same as an M.D."

"Fine," Karen groaned. "Two PhDs, an M.D. and an honorable mention," she nodded at Anthony. "We're all smart, yay us. Now, between the four of us, do you think we'll eventually be able to get this baby out of me, or…"

"Hey! Geez, sorry we're late," Jolene apologized as she yanked the door open, panting a bit. "Damian had to give me a ride…over here," she squinted, weighing something in her head before nodding quickly. "Anyway, we brought donuts!" She grinned, presenting Damian (who had funneled in behind her carrying a box from the bakery down the street).

"You brought donuts to a birth?" Anthony questioned, obviously bewildered. "Are you 10 years old?"

"10 and a half!" Jo stomped.

"And Damian," Pam pointed out, more critical than puzzled. "Donuts and Damian."

"Two of my fa—least favorite things!" Jo exclaimed, her shaky delivery only adding to the confusion in the room.

Pam raised an eyebrow. "Faleast favorite things?"

"Yes," Jo doubled down. "Faleast. Halfway between 'favorite' and 'least'…meaning donuts are my favorite and Damian is my least favorite, obviously. It's teen slang, Mom. I wouldn't expect you to be privy."

"Umm…shut up, how about?" Karen not-so-kindly suggested. "I'm in pain here? So…somebody make that different? Preferably the walking marijuana leaf over here?"

"Is that—that's me, isn't it," Pam acknowledged, making her way over to the kit she'd packed. "It's an incorrect classification of my anatomy, but I understand that in a more relaxed setting that could be been seen as humorous."

"This baby. Out of me. Now." Karen growled.

/

Pamela sat back once Karen began to push. Surprisingly, Harley did seem to have the situation under control, and was pretty collected given the enormity of this moment.

Pam watched silently as Karen gripped Anthony's hand and he smoothed her hair down, whispering in her ear and resting his forehead against her cheek as she sweat, moaning from pain and exertion.

If someone had told the Poison Ivy sitting in her cell on March 1st, 1997, that in three years, she'd be married to the blonde doctor whose credentials she'd just insulted…or that in 13 years she'd be asking Batman to help her have children with said Doctor…or that in 18 years she'd have two children that were biologically hers, and in another 13 she'd be sending her son to college, and her daughter would be on everybody's TV screen in another two…that three years after that their daughter would be Batgirl and their son would be holding his girlfriend's hand as she delivered his baby…Ivy would have probably told them that they belonged in that cell rather than her.

But here she was. And that had been the story of her life thus far. The young woman tied down to the table, the villain who fed men to her flytraps with a reckless abandon was now the happily married superhero sitting in one of the Justice League's hospital rooms—just a few doors down from the one she'd spent a week in suffering through her mutation—preparing to be a grandmother.

That was…odd. Odd for any parent, she assumed, to watch your child begin their journey same as you did with them…but it felt especially odd for Pamela because—she was Poison Ivy. _The_ Poison Ivy, and—

—she was pulled from her thoughts when she heard him cry. The baby…

Pam remembered how frightened Harley had been when Anthony didn't cry when she first pulled him out of the incubation tank…but Anthony himself had nothing to be frightened of. His baby was here, and he was holding him with wonder and love in his eyes as he gently laid the boy down on Karen's chest.

They'd been wondering for months what he would look like when he came out given his interesting mix of heritage. Would he be green like his father or dark like his mother? Pam breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw the boy took after Karen…teaching Anthony pigment control had been exhausting, and she had not been looking forward to repeating that process.

But Pam did find that the baby took after her side of the family in one key regard: his eyes were bright green, glowing like Pam's did when she employed her powers. That was odd for a few reasons: one being their nearly supernatural appearance, and two being that with the amount of melanin evident in the baby's skin, his eyes likely should have been brown, and if not—blue, being that he was a newborn. But no—his eyes were green, and Ivy was already brainstorming ways to disguise them when Harley asked: "What's his name?"

"It's up to Karen," Anthony smiled, kissing her on the forehead.

"Duke," she announced. "His name is Duke."

/

"Oh my God!" Jo laughed, punching Damian in the arm. "You're such a pussy."

"I am not!" Damian caviled.

"No, you're right," Jo was still laughing. "Pussies are awesome. Karen's just stretched enough to let a complete human being through. Nah, you're a scrotum."

"Why?!"

"Because one little _tap_ ," she illustrated her point by doing just that, and grinned as Damian grunted in pain. "And you're done." She skipped on ahead of him. "Yeah, you know what?" she turned around, jogging backwards now and cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice: "I hereby decree being called a 'pussy' a compliment, and 'scrotum' an insult!"

The woman walking past her gave her a high five (to Jo's absolute delight) and Damian shook his head, although his smirk betrayed him. "You're an idiot." He told her.

"An idiot with a super cute fucking nephew, though." Jo grinned, stopping in front of the coffee shop and holding the door open for him.

"I think I'm supposed to do that," he pointed out, walking past her inside.

"Well you can shove your antiquated gender norms right up your ass, thank you very much." Jo stated matter-of-factly, getting in line. "I'll hold the door open if I damn well please, and you'll be grateful."

"Whatever," Damian exhaled, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes at how slow the baristas were moving. "What did Harleen want again?"

"Caramel macchiato," Jo said quickly, standing on her tippy-toes to see to the front of the line. "Can you believe my brother just had a baby?"

"Your brother's girlfriend just had a baby," Damian corrected.

"Pfft, OK, Mr. Politically Correct," Jo scoffed. "Sorry I'm not perfect all the time."

"You're not perfect any of the time," Damian casually reminded her.

"Ooooh, buuurrrrnnn," Jo mocked, bumping him with her shoulder.

Damian sighed, and was about to start in with something else when a woman (who was probably around 20, if Jo had to guess) tapped him on the arm.

"Excuse me," she said, clearly trying to tame her excitement. "Are you Damian Wayne?"

"Yeah…?" he answered with caution, eyeing her sideways. "Can I help you?"

"No—it's just—you're Damian Wayne!" Her smile looked like it was about to split her face as she blushed a deep red. "You're—oh my God, my friends are gonna flip! I saw you on the cover of CatCo and—you're even more gorgeous in person. Can I get a picture?"

"Umm…sure."

"Awesome!" The woman squealed. "Miss, could you—could you take a picture for us?"

Jo, who had been watching the exchange with notable amusement, blinked at that. "Miss?

"Could you take a picture of us?" the woman repeated, shoving her phone in Jo's face. "This is—he's Damian Wayne."

"Ya don't say…" Jo mumbled as she opened the camera app on the woman's phone, pointing it at them and waiting for Damian to at least attempt a smile. What he gave was weak, but…whatever, beggars can't be choosers. Jo snapped the picture and handed it back to her.

"Thank you so much!" the woman grinned, looking at her screen with the live action translation of heart-eyes.

Jo saw they were next and was beginning to move towards the counter when the woman continued: "This is crazy, I don't usually do this, but—,"

"Babe," Jo called behind her before she could think better of it. "It's our turn." Damian looked as confused as the woman did embarrassed as Jo took his hand in hers and pulled him forward. "Could we get a medium caramel macchiato, a medium green tea—but only if it's organic—a large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, a small black coffee and a small orange juice, please?" she asked the barista before glancing over at Damian. "And what did you want, Babe?"

"Oh—uh—black…just black. Coffee. I want coffee."

"And another black coffee—small." Jo instructed with an even tone, although she could feel her face getting hot. "That's all."

Jo sulked waiting for their order after Damian paid, scuffing her sneaker on the linoleum as Damian watched her with interest.

"Wait a minute…" he said, finally, and she could all but hear the squint in his eyes and the smirk on his lips. "Did you just get territorial?"

"I have no idea what you're referring to," she told him coolly, not quite meeting his gaze.

"Ha!" Damian laughed. "You got jealous just then! You felt threatened by that random girl."

"I did not," Jo snapped.

"Disguising," Damian was still laughing—a sound Jo wasn't even totally sure she'd ever heard before. "Absolutely disgusting."

"I didn't get jealous," Jo repeated, a bite to her tone as she rapped her fingers on the counter. "Why would I be jealous?"

"Look, Man, I don't give a shit either way," he was clearly having a lot of fun with this. "I'm just saying two and a half months of hate-fucking a guy is a little soon to be getting territorial, don't you think?"

Jo rolled her eyes, deciding not to engage any further.

"Pfft," he scoffed at her reaction, using her chin to tilt her face upwards. "You're so full of shit."

Their kiss was interrupted a few moments later when their drinks were set down beside them, and Jo's blush was so intense when Damian pulled away that she felt like dunking her head in a bucket of water.

/

Harley couldn't believe it. This baby—her baby had made this baby! And she was right, he was a boy and he was round! She'd totally called it!

Smiling like an idiot, she ghosted her lips against his little fingers again, closing her eyes as she breathed in his new baby scent.

"He's so perfect," Harley whispered. "Have you ever seen a baby so perfect?"

Pam shook her head. "Not since that one," she nodded towards Anthony, who was asleep on the bed with his arm around Karen.

"Duke," Harley pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "His name is Duke and he's my grandbaby."

"Our grandbaby," Pam corrected.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Harley chuckled. "I'm gonna hog him, though, I hope that's clear. Speaking of which…" she got up from her seat, pressing the boy to her chest. "We should probably go."

"You think so?" Pam was surprised.

"Yep," Harley nodded. "While they're asleep. Let's skedaddle." She grabbed another blanket off of the bed and headed for the door.

"Umm…aren't you forgetting something?" Pam asked, referencing the baby that was still in her arms.

"Why do you think we're leaving while they're asleep?"

Pam laughed. "Bring him back here. They deserve a chance to be parents just like we did."

"Noooooo," Harley whined, pouting as she languidly dragged herself back to her chair, prompting another laugh from Pam.

"You should probably at least have chocolate chip cookies mastered before you kidnap him," Pam suggested. "That's what Anthony wanted…" she trailed off as her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out.

"That from kitty?" Harley asked. "How far out are they?"

"No…" Pam sighed, annoyed. "It's a google alert. Bruce gave me the phone so, for some reason, whenever Wayne Enterprises is mentioned online I get an email. Can't figure out how to disable it."

"Huh…well I'm sure Anthony can do it for you when he wakes up," Harley turned her attention back to Duke.

"Damian Wayne is officially off the market," Pam read aloud.

Harley laughed. "I mean—I guess that's newsworthy…pretty sure that fucker's still a virgin." She looked over at Pam (who had yet to laugh at her joke) and found any traces of a smile had melted off of her face. "Who is it?" Harley prompted.

Without further warning, Pam turned and rifled her phone at the wall, shattering the screen into a million tiny pieces.

Anthony and Karen woke with a start, concern automatically etched into Anthony's expression. Harley held the baby closer to her and Karen still looked pretty out of it, but she was clearly unhappy at being awoken so suddenly from her well-deserved nap.

"Did she get her daddy issues from Bruce?" Pam angrily inquired. "How is that even possible?! He's not even her Dad! She doesn't have a Dad!"

"Pam, what the hell are you…" Harley trailed off as the door opened and Jo and Damian reentered, all smiles and rosy cheeks and— _Christ_. _Really, Jo? Fucking really?_

"Hey, good news! The tea was organic, Mom," Jo grinned, handing Pam her cup.

"Him?!" Pam was beside herself, taking the tea from her and slamming it down on the table. "Why, Jolene? Why?"

"I'm…what?" Both Jo and Damian looked thoroughly perplexed by this display. And that's when Damian's phone buzzed in his pocket. Still watching Pam, he pulled it out to check the notification, and just like Pam, his features drained of all joy.

"Fuck…"

"What?" Jo leaned over to look before her happiness befell the same fate. "OK, that is your fault."

"Whose fault? Mine?" Damian was incredulous. "How?"

"How? You're the one that initiated the fucking PDA!"

"PD…" Anthony frowned, examining the situation, putting the pieces together. "Oh Jesus Christ—Jolene, are you sleeping with Damian?"

Jo groaned, looking up at the ceiling, clearly wishing her powers included the ability to fly away. And when she didn't answer, Damian took it upon himself to announce something definitive.

"Yes, and she's head-over-heels in love with me to boot."


	52. Chapter 52

"Fore!" Harley called out as she swung.

Pam rolled her eyes. "You know you don't have to say that every time, right? It's supposed to be used to warn someone if they're in the path of the ball." She used her own club to point downrange. "There's no one there."

"Hmm…" Harley mulled that over as she watched her shot land. "OK, I see your 'it's unnecessary' and I raise you an 'it's fun!'."

"And that's the point of the sport, is it not?" Selina prompted.

"This isn't a sport," Pam argued. "This is an activity for wealthy senior citizens with too much free time on their hands."

"Right," Bruce agreed, lining up his shot. "Which is why we're here."

"Yeah, congrats on still being hot, Pam," Selina leaned against the cart to watch Bruce's stroke. "The rest of us have to get our kicks in somehow. We tried living vicariously through our kids already, and it's exhausting, frankly."

"You don't have a kid, Selina," Pam reminded her.

"Oh, sure I do," the brunette laughed. "And he's sticking it to your daughter."

"Selina Kyle, I swear—,"

"—man," Selina sighed happily. "If I could go back to all of our arguments, all the times you just royally pissed me off, and know that someday I'd be standing here with the knowledge that my kid's dick—,"

"—I swear to Gaia I'll kill you, Selina. Right here. Right now. I will bury you under this goddamn golf course," Pam warned. "And you're not Damian's Mother. Talia is."

"Oh yeah?" Selina laughed. "Then where is she, huh? Help me out here, Bruce. Where's Talia?"

"Not he—,"

"—not here, that's right." Selina placed her ball on the tee. "She relinquished her parental rights when she dropped that asshole on our doorstep, so…" she drove a shot down the course, passing Bruce's ball and rolling onto the putting green. "To the victor go the spoils."

"You hate Damian," Pam reminded her.

Selina shrugged, filing her club back into her bag. "I have it on good authority you're not a huge fan of Jo's right now either; that doesn't take away your genetic contribution to her. Nor does my complicated relationship with Damian void the signature that made him legally mine."

"Look at us, Pam," Bruce smiled from the driver's seat as they piled into the golf cart. "40 years ago you were binding me and gagging me and leaving me to suffocate…and now…"

"Go ahead," the redhead sat forward "Make a BDSM joke about our children. I dare you."

"Maybe we could tell them they're siblings," Harley suggested as Bruce pulled away. "Tell them Bruce and I had an illicit affair, and that I just told her she was yours to make things less complicated."

"Mm…" Pam narrowed her eyes, thinking on that. "A couple of glaring issues with that idea: 1) I very much doubt I would have stayed with you if you'd cheated on me and been knocked up by Bruce 17 years into our marriage. 2) Jo looks a lot like you and me and absolutely nothing like Bruce. 3) she dreams my memories, and 4) I don't fucking think so."

"Alright, fine, so there are some plot holes," Harley admitted. "I'll get back to the drawing board."

"Or—and I know this sounds crazy—," Selina began. "How about you just suck it up, Buttercup? Quit making your kid's relationship about you, maybe?"

"OK, hey," Harley stepped in, "to be fair, we're pretty sure Jo entered into a 3-year relationship that ended pretty damn terribly just to spite us."

"Indeed," Bruce acknowledged. "And it's not like you taught her there are consequences to her actions, so history is doomed to repeat itself."

"You know what, Bruce?" Ivy moved forward in the back seat, resting her hands on his shoulders. "I did what I had to do," she hissed into his ear. "And you can report me to The League if you want to act like you would have handled it any differently had it been one of your children holding the crowbar."

"Aww!" Harley interrupted the suddenly tense moment by opening a text message. "Look, Duke's wearing the Robin pajamas." She excitedly held her phone up for everyone to see. "I'm surprised Karen even let that thing into her house," Harley chuckled. "She hates that costume."

"Well, perhaps if Duke ends up a Robin, she can improve the design," Bruce grumbled, noticeable salt in his tone.

/

"Alright, I'm leaving," Karen announced, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. "I pumped, so there's milk in the fridge for when he gets hungry, but you have to combine it with that formula your Mother gave us. Two-to-one, you know the drill."

"Got it," Anthony confirmed from where he was laying on the rug next to Duke, the two of them rapt, watching the portable mobile spin above them.

"Can you…"

"Send you a picture of him to look at when you get there?" Anthony guessed. "Absolutely. And one at 5 minute intervals afterwards to tide you over during your rest periods?"

"Thank you, yes." Karen breathed a sigh of relief.

"You don't have to get back in the swing of things so soon, you know," Anthony reminded her. "You just had a baby."

"Yes, five months ago." Karen confirmed. "And they'll expect me to be back in fighting shape when I return from my maternity leave next month. If I'm not ready, they'll put me down in the lab, and as much as I enjoy working on other people's suits, I'd like to get back to using mine."

"I understand," Anthony told her, pulling himself up and walking over to kiss her on the cheek, grabbing her water bottle off the counter once he did. "Did you need this?"

"Oh, shit, thanks," she bonked herself on the forehead with it before slipping it into her bag. "It's a wonder that anything's in the right place in this house given my brain's working at—like—30% capacity."

"Hey, you've got an awesome excuse, though." Anthony reminded her with a grin. "He's 16lbs and shits green into his diaper."

"Right, speaking of which—," she opened the door, turning quickly to give him a proper kiss before stepping outside, "—he smells terrible, you should probably check on that."

She was in her car before Anthony could think up a response other than "ugh", but he did manage to flip her the bird as she pulled away.

Sighing, he shut the door. "It's just you and me tonight, Little Man. You, me and stinky diapers."

Duke reached his hand up to bat at the mobile.

"I know, right?" Anthony grinned. "That's my kind of party."

/

"Dat ass, tho!"

Damian faltered under the weight on his back, startled at Jo's exclamation. "Fuck off," he gritted, beginning another rep.

"No, really," Jo sat down on a bench behind him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Dick was your father."

"Please leave me alone," he grunted as he pushed up out of the hole.

"Oh, come on," Jo laughed. "That's scrotum weight, right there. If you can't squat 225 with a distraction, you ain't shit."

"You—can't—squat 225 at all," Damian reminded her, attempting to maintain his concentration. "This is a burn-out set, get off my back."

"OK, well, first off," Jo got up to lean against the squat rack. "I can absolutely squat 225, and secondly, this is how women feel in the gym every goddamn day." She slapped him on the butt. "Gotta learn to deal with routine perversities."

With a final grunt of exertion, Damian re-racked the bar. "Shouldn't you be out chasing that lead rather than fucking up my leg workout?"

"Nah, Carrie's on that. She'll let me know when he's ready. In the meantime…" Jo smirked, trailing her finger from Damian's clavicle down his chest. "I'm bored. Come play with m—," she gagged, stopping her sentence in its tracks. "Sorry—too gross, not worth the reference."

"What?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry…" They both turned to find that Karen had just stepped through the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?"

"What?" Jo immediately shoved Damian away from her. "You mean between me and this jagweed? I don't think so."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows we're dating, Jolene."

"We're not dating, we're sleeping together." Jo set the record straight. "Totally different. Right, Karen?"

"Um…well…I thought Anthony and I were just sleeping together…and now he's waiting at home with our baby, so…"

"OK, well, you're no fucking help," Jo turned her back on her. "Take me on a _date_ , then you can say we're dating."

"I don't want to take you on a date, and you don't want to go on one," Damian reminded her.

"Well ya never fuckin' know, maybe I changed my mind," Jo spat.

"You did?" Damian seemed genuinely surprised.

"No, I said ' _maybe_ '," Jo sneered. "Why? Did you—change your mind? Or whatever…"

"I—no, uh…no, I didn't." Damian's attempt at a definitive response was fairly unconvincing. "No, I don't want to date you because I don't want to go on a date, and I don't love you either because…I don't."

"Riiiggghhhttt…." Karen said slowly, glancing back and forth between them. "So…this is clearly a super comfortable situation and all, but umm…I was going to work legs, so…can I clear the weights? Or…are you…"

"Yeah, fine." Damian said quickly, moving back to the rack and pulling the clips off the bar. "I was done."

"Awesome," Karen nodded awkwardly…and just kept nodding until somebody took the hint.

"I should—go!" Jo said suddenly. "Because I have a job to do. So…you look great, Karen, by the way. I can see why my brother is into you."

Damian and Karen cocked their heads in unison.

"Sorry—that was really weird," Jo admitted. "I'm Batgirl. I have to go."

/

"No, you have to keep your hands up," Anthony laughed, straightening his son's fingers. " _Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker's_ —Duke! Come on, man! Focus up."

The boy had balled his hands into fists and had his right one back in his mouth before Anthony could finish the verse.

"Come on, D." Anthony repeated, shaking his head, but powerless against the smile that spread across his face as he watched his son's leg kick out haphazardly. "You're cute, but try to focus here, alright?"

Duke rolled his head to the side and trained his green eyes on the lamp in the corner, quietly examining it with the degree of awe one might feel watching a sunset.

Anthony followed his gaze, snorting before looking back at him. "Yeah, Buddy, I feel you. Lights are pretty awesome." He laid down next to the baby on the couch, nodding back over at it. "Edison didn't actually invent it; you know—the lightbulb. Really, Edison was approached by a German precision mechanic named Heinrich Gobel who'd put together a functional lightbulb back in 1854…" Anthony glanced down to see Duke hadn't dropped his gaze yet, so he continued. "And Edison, in effect, told him his invention was dumb—or, more specifically—that he saw no use for it. So anyway, Edison saw the design, innovated it by adding the carbonized bamboo filament, and…voila! Edison invented the lightbulb."

Duke lolled his head back, looking up at Anthony now with the same degree of wonder he employed looking at the light.

"That's right," Anthony nodded, "I can talk. That's pretty awesome too. And if you think that's cool…" he spread his fingers out in front of Duke's face and slowly changed his skin color from green to a more civilian-appropriate pink, earning a beaming smile from his son.

"I know, I know," Anthony laughed. "That'll have to tide you over until I figure out some dad jokes."

/

 _Does this fatass seriously think he can outrun me?_

"I suggest you pump the brakes," Jo called after him as the man huffed and puffed around the corner.

She knew these rooftops like the back of her hand…or like the aesthetic lines of Damian's— _oh my god, shut the fuck up, Jo!_

Pulling herself up onto the next level by reaching a swift hand out and letting her momentum do the rest, she kicked upwards, yanking herself over the railing and contined her pursuit.

Jo could see him below her now, moving slower with each step, his feet landing heavily on the slick, wet metal of the roof.

"Idiot," she mumbled, launching off of her perch and landing just in front of him. "Boo."

He stumbled backwards, the fear in his eyes evident even in the dark and through the rain.

And then…he slipped. Well…he started to slip, Jo helped him seal the deal by kicking his legs out from under him, and he slid quickly down the roof, screaming—panicked—as he fell over the side, saving himself from certain death by grabbing hold of the gutter.

"Help me!" he pleaded.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you can't go from shooting at me, to running from me, to asking for my help just like that, alright?" Jo plopped down on her butt, dangling her feet over the ledge. She knew he wouldn't grab for her because he was clearly having trouble holding himself up with two arms, let alone one. "I've got some questions that need answering. _Your_ answers will determine whether or not I'm in a _helpful_ mood."

"What do you want?!" he yelled, his eyes wide with fear.

"Simple: I want to know where Bane's holed up." Jo told him, kicking her feet playfully, her whimsical body language establishing a bizarre juxtaposition accompanied by her menacing appearance.

"I don't know Bane! I don't know anything about him!"

"Are you lookin' to go splat, buddy?" Jo asked, slamming her first down only an inch away from where he was gripping the gutter. "I know you were the go-between for Bane and Franz." When his only response was a whimper, she pushed down on the gutter and a sickening creak sounded out. "Not sure your hand-hold's gonna be around much longer," she pointed out. "It's now or never."

"OK! Look, he's—there's an island in the bay," the man stammered. "It's remote—he bought out the estate—that's where he lives. I've been there! I can show you! Just—you just have to let me up. I'll take you there! Please, I've got kids!"

"And where are your kids?" Jo asked.

"What?"

"Your children—your son and your daughter," Jo reiterated. "Where are they?"

"How did you know—,"

"—where are your children?!" Jo roared, her question sounding even more threatening through her voice modulator.

"Ahh—with their Mother!" the man told her, still holding on for dear life. "She—she's got full custody!"

Jo kicked him in the side. "Why? Tell me the truth."

"Because she's a crazy bitch! What do you care?!"

Jo sighed, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, 'Crazy Bitch' was not on the board." She used her gloved fingers to trace lazy circles on his knuckles. "Actually, the answer I was looking for is 'I beat their Mother within an inch of her life, and she had the good sense to finally leave me'. But…we can't all be winners," Jo shrugged before lifting her leg up and slamming her boot down on the gutter, tearing it away from the building and sending the man plummeting to his death.

" _Mmm whatcha say…_ " she sang as she watched him become street pizza.

/

"Bigly?" Pam raised an eyebrow. "That's not a word, Harleen."

"Sure it is," the blonde giggled, taking a sip of her wine. "And I get triple the points too. That's a big amount of points. I scored bigly."

"You sound—absolutely ridiculous," Pam held in a laugh, picking up her phone.

"Hey, no phones on Scrabble night! You know the rule," Harley complained.

"I'm looking it up," Pam smacked her wife's hand down as she tried to reach for the phone. "I'm not going to forfeit these points just because you told me to. There are rules to this game." She felt stupid even typing "bigly" into a google search.

"It's a word," Harley confidently assured, getting up to pour her another glass of sparkling water. Looking back from the fridge, she grinned at the disappointed look on Pam's face as she stared at her phone. "It's a word."

Pam groaned, locking her the screen and tossing it back onto the table. "It's a word—but!" she added before Harley could celebrate. "It has been banished, evidently. So, while you do, technically, win the argument, your victory is hollow and you should be ashamed."

"Then thank goodness my days of stringent morality are behind me," Harley snickered, sitting back down at the table and sliding Pam's glass over to her. "That's Jo's job now."

"Oh, yes," Pam chuckled, raising her glass. "And our daughter is nothing if not stringently moral."

Harley raised her glass as well. "To the erosion of the Bat-family's moral compass."

"And to Jo and Damian," Pam piggybacked. "The thought that triggers my gag reflex almost as quickly as the word 'bigly' and those who employ it in their everyday vocabulary."

Harley happily clinked their glasses together. "Cheers."


	53. Chapter 53

"I know you hate it," Pam said from the closet. "But I thought since I don't have to report to The Watchtower until 2, we could maybe check out that garden show downtown? I was supposed to make a speech—Ivy, I mean…so…if you wanted to accompany me, perhaps I could bring civilian clothes to change into and we could enjoy it together? Or—I'd enjoy it enough for the both of us?"

Harley swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing them again by slowly putting her weight on one foot and then the other. "Umm…I don't—uh—I don't know, Babe. I'm not feeling too hot."

"Oh...well, alright," Harley could hear the disappointment in her wife's voice. "Is it a stomach ache? Because I can fix that—probably, but I'll need a moment in the lab." Pam poked her head out of the closet to raise an expectant eyebrow her.

"Nope," Harley shook her head. "Thanks—I just…I don't feel like walking around all day, is all."

"Well it's not 'all day'," Pam chuckled. "Were you not listening?" she buttoned her flamingo pink blouse all the way up to the top button, threading her polka dotted ascot through the collar (the one that made her look every bit the wealthy country club member she was). "I have to catch the 2pm shuttle to The Watchtower. It's 10 now, I'm not due to give my speech until noon…are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I could eat," Harley forced a smile.

"Great," Pam smiled sweetly back at her. "We could try that café down the road? I saw they had squash quiche on the menu, and although that seems like a conflict of interest, being that the texture of cooked squash is soft, much like the texture of cooked egg—what?" she stopped her thought in reaction to Harley's expression.

…which Harley just realized had melted into a pile of goo. "You're really pretty."

"Oh," Pam blushed through her already paled skin, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Thank you—I mean, yes, I know."

Harley grinned. "Quiche sounds alright, but how bout'cha cook me something instead?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harley affirmed. "I would offer to cook for you…but I feel like that might be more punishment than anything."

Pam laughed. "You're making positive strides, at least. But yes, no need to fix what isn't broken. Any preferences?"

"Surprise me."

"By which you mean 'fruit salad', of course."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Please go make me a waffle."

"Fine," Pam sighed, leaning down to give her a slow kiss. "I'll be back," she whispered, giving Harley a quick peck on the forehead as well before sashaying out of the room.

Harley waited until she was sure Pam was down the stairs before making another attempt to get up. She grabbed onto the bedside table and locked her elbows, using her upper body strength to push herself out of bed.

Her legs wobbled under her as she held fast to the table, but eventually they stilled, and she felt comfortable enough to let go.

"Fuck—remind me to quit getting old." She said aloud, making her way to the closet to pull on a pair of jeans and (since she was being dragged to a gardening show), the t-shirt Jo had gifted her that said "I've taken a Lichen to Moss" in big letters across the front.

Pam was humming over the heating waffle maker when Harley arrived downstairs, immediately taking a seat at the kitchen bar.

"You know what I just realized?" Harley prompted.

"Seeing as you're not a plant…no, I don't know what you just realized." Pam poured an evenly measured scoop of batter and closed the lid.

"I just realized that today is February 13th." Harley told her. "And we haven't planned anything for tomorrow."

"Right, yes…well…how awful," Pam nodded, washing her hands in the sink and grabbing a plate from the cupboard.

"Oh my God," Harley laughed. "Are you for real right now? Tomorrow is Valentine's Day! How can you live on this planet for like 105-fricken-years and still forget that?"

"Damn it," Pam cursed, spinning the waffle maker. "I swear, before this is all said and done, I will remember a Valentine's Day."

Harley scoffed. "Fat chance."

"Oh, come now," Pam began…

"What? Just spontaneously?" Harley crossed her arms. "Nice try, Lady. I require a little romance."

Pam sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, and Harley just had to laugh. "If you're lookin' for someone to blame, blame yourself."

"It's just—I saw the shirt at the same time. It all hit me at once." Pam massaged her temples.

"And I totally contributed genetic material to your children," Harley cackled. "You can't escape me!"

"Yes, congratulations. Truly," Pam clapped for her before the timer dinged on the waffle maker and she opened the lid. "I simply refuse to pile it with the sheer volume of sugar you seem to require, so you'll have to do that yourself."

Harley wrinkled her nose haughtily as she pulled herself up…but stumbled after only a few feet, grabbing onto the counter to keep herself from falling.

Pam looked at her strangely. "Are you OK?"

"Ha! Yeah—that wine must still be sloshing around in my system," Harley chuckled, trying not to sound too nervous.

"You think you're stumbling around 12 hours later thanks to two glasses of wine?" The redhead narrowed her eyes. "Where'd you get that medical degree from again?"

"Or maybe I'm just getting my sea legs, my darling Mera," Harley laughed, regaining her composure and taking the whip cream out of the fridge, noticing Pam had already put the syrup out on the counter.

Pam scoffed. "In a plot twist, as a reaction to these extraordinarily stupid jokes you all like to make, Mera and I will be running away together to have fish-plant hybrid children who look exactly like us. We'll establish a colony comprised solely of gorgeous, super-powered redheads that will eventually rival the Amazonians and Atlanteens. We'll pit them against each other and lay in weight as they destroy their once great civilizations…then all that will be left are the humans, and we'll make short work of them. Of that I can assure you." She stopped herself, looking stunned. "Oh, my…"

Harley bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Did you finally crack the code on world domination?"

"It's—I mean—," Pam was reeling. "It would take some convincing, but her stand on pollution is nearly as rigid as mine!"

"Red, hey," Harley grabbed her face. "Fish are friends, not food."

With a far off look in her eye, the corner of Pam's mouth turned up into a smirk. "I suppose she could be both."

Harley laughed out loud, dropping her hands. "Only in my fantasies, Babe."

Pam blinked. "Your fantasy is me cheating on you with a woman who looks almost exactly like me?"

"Mmm," Harley closed her eyes. "So much red."

/

"There are only four islands in the bay with inhabitable structures. What's-his-fuck told me Bane bought out an estate." Jo whispered. "The Batplane has infrared scanning capabilities…we're fine. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"No, you got trigger happy, and as a result, we have to push back our raid another night so we can actually find the fucking compound," Damian hissed.

"Trigger happy?" Jo scoffed. "You can't shoot someone with a grappling gun, and that's all I took with me last night."

"You killed him," Damian intoned. "The method is irrelevant."

"Nonsense," Jo muttered, checking her watch. "It was wet. The poor man slipped. Roof-running isn't for everyone. He learned his lesson the hard way."

"God, you sound just like your Mother…and I don't mean Harleen." Damian mumbled.

"Yeah, well, you're doing a bang-up impression of your Dad too, Asshlole."

Jo had just finished her sentence when the nurse appeared in the hallway. "They're ready," she smiled warmly. "As is the photographer."

"Fantastic," Jo grinned, grabbing Damian's hand and pulling him up to his feet.

"Ya'll are so sweet for doing this," the nurse told them. "Really, the kids love it."

 _And…here…we…go…_ "Well, it's a cause near to our hearts, obviously," Damian dropped Jo's hand to wrap an arm around her waist for a better show of intimacy. "The Wayne Foundation is proud to support the Martha Wayne Memorial Hospital, and willing to help wherever and whenever we can."

"Yeah, I think that's implied, Babe," Jo smiled, though not at him.

Damian managed to fight his nature and control his eye roll as Jo led the way into the children's cancer ward…which was pretty much the last place Damian wanted to spend his afternoon. He should have been in the cave with Carrie doing what he could to track Bane in the daylight.

But no.

No, Damian was at his family's hospital representing his family's charity foundation because Damian was now the public face of his family. Damian and...ugh…Jo.

People liked Jo. Well—to be more specific, people who didn't know Jo liked Jo. The public knew her as a beautiful, charming, former elite athlete turned cancer survivor who'd returned to her old gym to teach young girls the skills she never got a chance to use on the international stage.

Of course that was all a lie. Well…most of it, anyway. She was attractive, certainly. Damian acknowledged that. Technically she had been—and still was, obviously—an elite athlete…and she was a coach now, imparting her wisdom to the next generation of gymnasts…

Alright, fine. But the cancer stuff was bullshit, and that's why they were here, anyway.

Damian and Jo were similar in a lot of ways. He'd been aware of that for some time. Perhaps that's why they "worked", perhaps that's why they didn't…but despite all their personal and temperamental similitudes, there were many ways in which they differed. One of them being that, if this performance was any indication, Jo was by far the more talented actor of the two.

"Did you ever have to shave your head?" a girl in a beanie cap was asking her.

"I did, yeah," Jo nodded. "But it was sorta perfect timing because I'd just seen _Mad Max_."

 _Lie._

"I've never seen it," the girl mumbled, starring down into her lap.

"Ah, no, I guess you wouldn't have," Jo chuckled, likely realizing for the first time that _Mad Max_ might not be appropriate for the 10-year-old she was talking to. "Well… _Mad Max_ is the story of a woman named Furiosa who's kidnapped as a young girl and taken to an evil place far far away where everyone is hooked up to machines and nobody has hair."

"So…sorta like here," the girl acknowledged. "Cept for it's not really evil here, just sad sometimes."

"That's right," Jo nodded. "And so this girl has to shave her head to fit in."

"Did she still look pretty?"

"Oh, yeah," Jo assured her. "Definitely. And she looked way more badass, too—don't tell your doctor I cursed."

The girl giggled. "OK."

"So anyway, the little girl grows up into this strong, beautiful butt-kicker and finds some other people like her, people who've had their lives stolen away from them," Jo told her. "And they band together and fight back. Kinda like you and all your friends here are fighting your cancer."

Picking at her pajama pants, the girl asked: "Does she win in the end?"

"She sure does," Jo grinned. "And she does it all with a shaved head. Oh! Uh—hold up," she grabbed one of the makeup kits they were delivering and pulled out the black eyeshadow. "Can I?" she asked.

The girl nodded quickly and Jo leaned forward, gently pulling the girl's beanie off and applying the dark makeup around her eyes, "see, in the movie she drives this big ole' semi-truck across the desert," and up onto her forehead, "and uses a whole bunch of grease for her war paint. But dang!" Jo grinned, sitting back to admire her work. "Step aside, Charlize Theron! There's a new Furiosa in town."

She talked to every single kid that way—telling a unique anecdote each time. Her personal stories were all made up, of course, as Jo's cancer was made up to explain her sudden disappearance from the world of gymnastics…but the kids enjoyed them.

"Yeah, I didn't go to my prom either," Jo was saying.

"Why?" the boy she was talking to asked. "Were you too sick?"

"Well…I certainly didn't feel well," Jo admitted. "But I was also dating this guy at the time who was a lot older than me…and who I was sorta embarrassed of, to be honest. So I stayed home."

"Do you regret it?" he inquired.

"Mm…" Jo narrowed her eyes. "A little bit. Damian takes me to all sorts of fancy parties now that I get to dress up for, though, and those are pretty fun, so…honestly, I think it all depends on your dance partner. You've gotta bring someone that entertains you both on and off the dance floor."

"Is he a good dance partner?" the boy asked, nodding up at Damian.

"Totally," Jo grinned. "His hips don't lie."

The boy laughed and Damian let a smirk slip before Jo continued: "I'll tell you what…I know Prom isn't for a little while, and who knows, between now and then you could totally meet your perfect dance partner and everything could be fantastic. But if that doesn't happen, I'd be more than happy to hang out with you for the night. Like I said, I've got a lot of fancy dresses to choose from, so it wouldn't be a problem. Plus, you're a total catch. Anyone with eyes or ears should be able to see that."

"Are you—asking me to prom?" the ghost of his laughter still lingered in the boy's features.

"If you swing that way." Jo told him. "If not—I happen to know an exceedingly handsome gentleman who'd be honored to accompany you instead." She waggled her eyebrows in Damian's direction. "And man oh man does he know how to wear a tux, lemme tell ya."

Her demeanor changed a bit when she reached the last girl in their rounds…who happened to be wearing a Batgirl shirt with a bright green logo over her hospital gown.

"I like your shirt," Jo grinned. "Is that Batgirl your favorite?"

"Yeah," the girl smiled back just as wide. "I have a doll of her too, see?" she reached over to her bedside table and pulled an action figure out of the top drawer, holding it out for Jo to examine.

The doll was dressed in the new suit, complete with the smiling cowl and extendable wings. "Wow…" Jo said, seemingly in legitimate awe. "That's—I can see why she's your favorite."

"Yeah," the girl repeated, taking it back from her and smoothing her hand reverently down its face.

"Why is she your favorite?" Damian asked…definitely not upset she didn't have his action figure instead. That would be stupid.

The girl shrugged. "I like that she's happy. Because…sometimes I get really sad, but see—," the pulled the doll's mask back. "She's really smiling. Sometimes I only smile on the outside but not the inside…but she smiles with both."

Jo and Damian took a closer look now. The Doll's face was fairly generic, with bright red lips (Damian nearly scoffed out loud at the notion that Jo would wear makeup under her mask), bright green eyes (OK, so at least that was accurate—although unknowingly, on the part of the toy company), and yes—a wide, happy smile.

"Mm," was Jo's only verbal response.

Her final goodbye to the children was somewhat muted in its enthusiasm, and she stared silently out the window of the town car as they pulled away, heading in the direction of Wayne Manor.

"Do you…need to take a nap or something?" Damian asked, attempting to be considerate. _He'd_ certainly found that experience oddly draining...though not the complete waste of time he'd expected.

"What if I'm not Jolene?"

"Come again?"

"What if I'm Tricky Nicky? Or Annie from Sublime's Wrong Way?" there was a surprising degree of panic in her tone as she turned to him.

"I'm not—totally following," Damian furrowed his brow. "But if you're wishing to compare yourself to the fictional subjects of once popular songs…I'm pretty sure both of those women were crack whores. You're a lot of things, Jolene, but you're not that."

"So what am I, then?" Jo asked, a bit desperately. "And don't say 'Roxanne', please. Am I Cecilia?"

 _OK…maybe I shouldn't have dismissed drugs so quickly._ "Miss Jackson," Damian answered, finally.

Jo was clearly confused by his choice. "Outkast?"

"No, Panic! At The Disco."

Jo narrowed her eyes, possibly trying to recall the lyrics as she sunk back into the plush leather seats. "OK," was the response she came up with after a long moment of silence. "I want Bane," she told him, her voice quieter than usual. "He'll be my last mistake. But I have to finish this."


	54. Chapter 54

**"Love is the one thing we're capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space."**  
 **-Interstellar**

 **Happy Valentine's Day!**

"All of his security appears to be internal, so you're going to _wait_ when I drop you. Do you understand?"

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Jo saluted him…and even behind his cowl she could tell he was rolling his eyes.

"Just don't do anything stupid," was Damian's final request.

Jo placed her hand on her chest, offended. "Who? Me?! Stupid? Never! Everything I do is with calculated precision."

"You planning to do something stupid doesn't make it not stupid, it just makes it premeditated," Damian intoned as the Batplane neared the drop site.

"Well fine then," Jo leaned over and gave him a kiss as the hatch opened.

"What was that for?" He asked.

She grinned as her mask closed over her face. "For incase I do something stupid." She stood up as the plane slowed to a hover for a moment, and jumped over the side, employing her wings to help her glide safely to the ground.

Once her feet hit, she started at a sprint towards the viewing point they'd scouted, and skidded to a stop once she'd arrived, her heart beating fast in her chest.

Switching her vision to infrared, she scanned the front room of the house, registering two bodies—men by the size of them—and then another one on the stairs. Carrie and Damian had reviewed the blueprints of the house and decided that production of the Slappers was likely taking place in the warehouse at the back of the main house, but because the goal was to end the entire operation, they'd start in the main house and work their way through.

"What are we looking at?" Damian was suddenly beside her, mirroring her crouched position.

"I don't get props for waiting?"

"Congratulations," Damian granted. "You can follow basic instructions."

"Thank you," Jo smiled beneath her mask. "Two on the ground level, one on the stairs…that's as far as I can see."

"Do you think you can handle them?" Damian asked. "If I start around back?"

"Sure. You take the back, I'll take the front…which reminds me, if we ever do a three-way, we'll be asking another girl as I have absolutely no interest in taking it—,"

"Jo!"

"Oh, right, yeah," Jo nodded ardently. "Catch'ya on the flippidy."

She skirted around the underbrush, at first considering just trying the front door before she noticed the drainpipe on the side of the house that happened to lead directly up to a second story window.

"Damn, it's like the architect wanted somebody to break in," Jo mumbled as she began to climb, slipping the point of a batarang between the window and the sill and quickly wrenching it upwards, feeding the batarang back into her suit and then pulling herself inside.

Jo found herself in an empty bedroom; one of four on the second level. The only light source was spilling in from the hallway through the open sliver of the door. The stairs and the first guard would be to her right once she opened the door fully, and then below him would be the other two.

Best to be prepared now.

With that in mind, she reached for her smoke grenades. Or…where her smoke grenades were usually kept. This particular one was a gift from her Mother, and man were there some perks to being Poison Ivy's kid.

…besides having a genetic predisposition for hotness, although that one is not to be understated.

Pushing the door open, she tore the pin off the grenade and rifled it at the man on the stairs, conking him on the side of the head and sending him toppling downwards.

That got the attention of the two guards on the ground level, but it was too little too late as a green mist began to discharge from the grenade.

 _3…2…1…poof._

Right on cue, the grenade burst open, enveloping all three men in a thick cloud of verdant smog.

Jo poked her head around the corner to watch them cough and choke, falling to their knees and painfully writhing on the ground as they seized.

"Ha, well fuck…" she murmured before calling out: "Sorry, I couldn't think of a quip. That's usually the best part of being murdered by me." And starting down the hallway.

She checked each bedroom, popping her head in and quickly glancing around before continuing. Her pace slowed and her ears pricked up as she approached the master bedroom, though. Unlike the others, this door was closed, but Jo thought she could make out the sound of machinery running inside.

Preparing a batarang and taking a deep breath, she grabbed the handle and slowly twisted it, pushing the door open to find…

 _Huh?_

An old man in a wheelchair…hooked up to noisy, hulking breathing machine.

He was looking straight at her, hunched over in his chair, his eyes bloodshot and his head bobbing lazily with each forced breath.

 _Fuck. Of course._ If Jason couldn't even go a month on venom, Jo could only imagine what a guy that lived off of it for a half a century would look like.

And now she didn't have to imagine it. He was sitting right there in front of her.

"Uh, Batman?"

 _"_ _Yeah?"_ Damian grunted, clearly in the middle of something.

"I found Bane. And…somehow I don't think he's the brains behind this operation."

" _Yeah—mmph_ ," she was pretty sure he'd just punched someone. "I'm starting to get that too."

"Use your grenade," Jo told him, not breaking eye contact with Bane. "You're immune."

 _"_ _To what? Since when?"_

"You sleep a lot," she answered plainly, her mask shutting off their communication as it pulled back from her face.

"Hello," she greeted Bane, once he got a look at her actual face. "I'm Jolene. It's a pleasure to meet you." He—of course—couldn't speak thanks to the tube that had been implanted in his trachea, but she smiled at him anyway. "Do you remember Poison Ivy?" she asked. "Red hair, has a lady boner for flowers…both in the botanical sense and…you know…the Georgia O'Keefe sense…" Jo trailed off as he nodded. "Cool, cool. Was she your friend?"

He shook his head rather definitively.

"Yeah, I heard that 'honor among thieves' thing was probably bullshit," she tapped her foot on the ground a few times, narrowing her eyes as she sized him up. "So I'm her daughter…Ivy's, I mean."

Bane nodded again.

"Aww, you can tell?" Jo grinned. "Do I look like her?"

He slowly blinked his eyes.

"Ah, green. Got'cha." She winked. "You're very sweet, but I'm actually here to kill you."

His reaction came slower this time, but when it did it was…another nod.

"You know that or you'd like me to?" Jo questioned.

Bane's response was simply to nod again.

"Oh," her shoulders fell in slight disappointment. "Well…alright. I've never killed anyone that wanted to die before…do you—umm—have anything in mind? Any particular method?"

To the best of his ability, Bane jerked his head in the direction of his breathing machine and Jo's gaze slowly followed.

"So just…pull the plug?" she crossed the room to examine the machine. "Well that's sort of anticlimactic, isn't it? I was sorta on this revenge arc and…Oh, here it is." She pressed a button and the machine instantly powered down.

/

"When I said you should plan something for Valentine's Day, I meant—like—a nice dinner out or something. Not a walk in the park in freezing-ass-February." Harley complained.

Pam rolled her eyes. "Can you have a little faith, please?"

"But I'm coooolllldddd, Pammy," Harley whined.

"Ugh," the redhead groaned, taking off her scarf and wrapping it around her wife's neck instead. "Did I not instruct you to bring a warmer jacket?"

"Yeesh, alright, Mom," Harley mocked, nuzzling in closer to Pam's side as they walked. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Patience," Pam exhaled, pulling Harley with her off the trail.

The air was crisp and yes, cold, certainly, with a bite to it that only the tail-end of winter could offer. After Woodrue and before Harley, this park was where Ivy would spend her winters, holed up deep in the thickest part of the woods, mourning the deaths of her children as the frost wiped them away, ending their nonconformity and shrouding the once diverse landscape into one uniform winter wasteland.

Of course, winters were different now that she had her human family. She didn't get so lonely anymore or so sad, and when she did they were there to remind her that spring would come again and that new seeds would soon manifest themselves.

Harley grinned as the underbrush cleared out of the way for them, creating a path just as blatant as the main trail, and then covering itself once more as they passed. "That never won't be awesome."

Pam smirked as she led them to the hanging branches of a weeping willow tree. Stopping there and taking a deep breath, she said: "Alright. Even though you had to remind me…I did my best," and with that, she pulled back the branches in front of them, revealing a sheltered alcove lit with candles. The trunk of the willow tree had split off into two distinct bodies, the second one low and flat enough that it resembled a table, on top of which were placed two covered dinner plates.

"Wha…how did you…in the forest," Harley's words stumbled out as she remained slack jawed.

Pam chuckled. "Being married to Poison Ivy would seem to have its perks."

"But the…" Harley took a few steps forward, then turned back around to look at her. "Is there food in there? Did you—how'd you get it all the way out here?"

"OK, don't make fun of me, please," Pam let her skin shift back to its natural green, at home in her surroundings. "But it's takeout. And by take-out, I mean hotdogs from the vendor at the entrance."

Harley's eyes began to fill up with tears. "You bought me a hotdog?"

"I bought you two hotdogs," Pam corrected. "And myself one that I won't like, but that I'll eat anyway because I love you."

"Pammy," Harley wiped a tear away from her eye. "You'd eat a hotdog for me?"

"In the ultimate test of devotion," Pam sighed. "Yes. Happy Valentine's Day."

The blonde flew into her arms, wrapping her into a tight embrace and peppering her face with kisses.

/

Sometimes Damian wondered what it felt like to kiss Poison Ivy.

Just to compare it to how it felt kissing Jolene.

And not because Ivy was her Mother, either…but because he always felt a bit…drunk when he was with Jo in that way…under the influence of something he couldn't quite explain. But it certainly felt nefarious…and perplexing…but mostly just frustrating.

The first time they'd kissed, it'd just felt so _right_ to Damian that he'd panicked briefly, thinking Ivy must have passed down some version of her pheromones to her daughter because it was too perfect to be anything but his last.

But no. He'd lived to kiss her again.

And to fight with her again.

And to yell at her.

And to scold her.

And to smile at her, and to see her smile…

And to kiss her again.

Damian's head was resting on her chest now, between her breasts, basking in the afterglow of…well, he was so happy with the sex they'd just had that he had yet to roll off of her…but he was pretty sure she was still thinking about the satisfaction that came with killing Bane and ending the production of Slappers in Gotham City. Either way, she'd made no move to push him off like usual, and he liked the feeling of her fingers as they absently carded through his hair.

"This? Right here, what you're doing?" Jo broke the silence. "It's called cuddling. You're cuddling me."

 _Yeah, I know_. "You'd like that, wouldn't you," he scoffed, still not moving. "Maybe if you'd heard me when I called for backup, and actually—you know—come to back me up, I wouldn't be so tired."

"Oh, poor baby," Jo mocked, curling a lock of his hair around her finger. "You seemed fine to me when you were starting round two…and finishing it, actually."

"It's a cumulative exhaustion," Damian explained. He felt rather than heard her responding chuckle…and it was some time before she spoke again.

"What's wrong with me, do you think?" she asked.

Damian snorted, propping his chin on her sternum to look up at her. "How much time do you have?"

Jo rolled her eyes before laying her head back on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. "The first thing I remember my Mom saying to me is that she loved me. That's my earliest memory of her. _I love you, Jolene_ …"

Damian tried to think of his first memory with his Mother…probably her handing him a switchblade and telling him to go work on his close-quarter knife skills. His first image of Selina would forever be emblazoned in his memory, though. His Father had gone outside to speak with his Mother when she'd first dropped him off, and Selina had taken him inside and sat him down at the dining room table before narrowing her eyes at him and asking: "so what's your deal?"

"Vindictive…" Jo was saying. "Her, me, all of us…cuz', see— _I_ knew that the only thing that could hurt them worse than not knowing whether or not I felt loved, was thinking I didn't love myself. Because you know what sort of 15-year-old hooks up with a down on their luck 22-year-old? One with low self-esteem. One who doesn't think they're worth anything better, or one who thinks they don't need a fucking childhood because life is all garbage anyway. I was done being a kid at 15. I knew Jason had taken that away from me, and you know what I thought? Good. That'll teach them."

"Teach who? Your parents?"

"Yeah," Jo confirmed, looking reflective. He supposed this did end a rather significant chapter for her.

Damian cleared his throat, moving off of her to lay on the pillow beside her. "You said you were—triggered when Jason—you know…but you've never been…"

"Raped?" Jo guessed. "Yeah, no. Not directly, at least. But…you know when you're in your VR simulations, and a guy charges at you, and just for a second, you forget that it's not real?"

"I do…"

"OK, well…I've been…VR raped a lot of times," she told him. "And I learned to remind myself it wasn't real a long time ago…but that time—with Jason—I couldn't wake up. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't make-believe…so I panicked…and I hit him. I hit him so many times, Damian. And who's fault is that?"

Damian didn't answer, both because he didn't _have_ an answer and because he'd moved his hand to rest on her stomach, and him talking would more than likely remind them both that their behavior and body positions were atypical and…ugh…affectionate.

"Is it his fault? No, he was high as a fucking kite," Jo continued, working through her own question. "Is it my fault? Is it my Mom's fault? Do I blame the murder of my boyfriend on the fact that my Mom was raped in 1966? No, that doesn't make any fucking sense. But I gotta blame somebody," She exhaled. "Because I'm angry, Damian. I'm really fucking angry. And I have been for _so long_." Her voice cracked slightly. "I'm 19 years old and already so tired. I've lived too much goddamn life already."

"So have I," he murmured.

It was only when she turned to look at him that he realized he'd said that out loud. "What's wrong with me that I would choose someone who blatantly didn't love me over people that always have and always will?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," Damian said, brushing that off. "If you want to be with someone, you want to be with them. That's love. Finding a person that you can tolerate…that's love."

Jo frowned, propping herself up on her elbow. "You don't see what the big deal about love is?"

Damian shrugged. "I have parents that provided for me. That care about me. That's all I need. Just because they've never said they love me doesn't mean I'm at some radical disadvantage."

Jo looked confused. "I'm sorry—what?"

"That's all I need." Damian reiterated. "Someone to tolerate who tolerates me."

"Damian…" Jo began, sounding cautious. "Has no one ever told you they loved you? Not your Dad? not…Selina?"

"No," he intoned. "But I know they respect me. That's what's important."

"Umm…no," Jo sat up a little higher. "I mean—yeah, that's nice. Respect is good, respect is…part of it, but Damian—that word does matter."

"Sure," he shrugged again, this one with a bit more subtlety, a bit less assuredness. "I said it to you, didn't I?"

Jo shook her head. "No, Dude, I don't think you understand." She grabbed his arms and pulled him up to a sitting position, tenderly running her hands up his wrists, his arms, his shoulders…until she was cupping his jaw.

Damian's heart beat faster in his chest as he watched her, the sincerity of her gaze almost difficult to reciprocate.

Jo gently brushed his cheek with her thumb, lightly clearing her throat before saying: "You is smart, you is kind, you is imp—,"

"Oh, fuck you, Jo," Damian smacked her hands away and grabbed the blankets, laying back down and pulling them up to his neck. "You're such a bitch."

Jo was laughing, "oh—no, c'mon," she burrowed under the covers, crawling over him and pressing kisses up his chest and neck until her lips pressed against his ear. "Happy Valentine's Day," she whispered.

"Can you just…say it?" he mumbled.

"Mmm…" he felt her hum against his skin as she came to hover over him, their lips nearly touching. "I love you, Batman." She murmured, letting her lips brush languidly against his. "I love you, Robin." She nipped playfully at his bottom lip. "I love you Damian Wayne." And skimmed her tongue across it afterwards to soothe it. "I love you, داميان الغول."

He made a fist in her hair when he pulled her down into an actual kiss, done with her teasing as he wrapped his other arm around her back and held her tight against him, suddenly wanting desperately to be closer to her. Wanting to feel every inch of her soft skin against his.

It was messy and Damian felt dumb, but he needed it. He would never admit to needing _her_ , but this…seemed somehow essential.

/

Pam's eyes opened slowly to a dark room.

Well…nearly dark. There was light spilling out from the bathroom.

With a small groan of annoyance at having woken up hours before the sun had even graced them with its presence, she turned over onto her other side, meaning to cuddle up next to Harley in hopes that her wife's breathing would lull her back to sleep.

Except for Harley wasn't there. And as Pam's senses came into focus, she found that light wasn't the only thing emanating from the open bathroom door.

She registered a sniffle…a muffled sob…

"Harleen?" Pam called out, sitting up in bed. "Are you OK?"

Harley didn't answer, just sniffed again, louder this time now that she knew Pam was awake.

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, the redhead pulled back the blankets and gingerly stepped out of bed, crossing the darkened bedroom towards the light of the bathroom.

"Harl?" she asked again as she pushed the door open wider, revealing her wife sitting on the floor with her back against the toilet, her face stained with tears.

"Honey, what—," Pam yawned. "What's the matter?"

"I—I sat down and I—they don't—I can't," she stammered nonsensically, her throat full from crying. "I can't get up."

Pam's brain was already only functioning at about 50% capacity given the ridiculous hour, and Harley certainly wasn't making it easy on her with her sentence fragments. So, confused, she asked: "why did you sit down?" which really wasn't the right question, but it was the only one that made sense in her head and out her mouth.

"I felt shaky," Harley wiped her eyes. "So I—I thought I'd sit down to let it pass, but it…it didn't…it got worse and I—I can't feel 'em anymore. They're gone."

"What are?"

"I can't feel 'em," Harley repeated. "I can't—they're gone."

And then it clicked. "Harleen, can you not feel your legs?"

Pam took the new tears spilling down her wife's face as confirmation. "I had to sit down—I was shaky…I—I didn't make it. I couldn't make it."

That one decoded itself when Pam kneeled down next to her and the smell of urine hit her nostrils. "Oh—Harl, that's—it's fine, Daffodil." She tried to give her a reassuring look, but her mind was reeling. Harley had been fine and walking around only a few hours ago. She objectively didn't look any older than 55 (despite actually being a decade older), she exercised, she took care of herself…her legs spontaneously failing her didn't make any sense.

"I think the s—s—pell w—w—ore off," Harley was sobbing now, her face red from embarrassment.

 _Zatanna, you fucking bitch…_

"Maybe," Pam gently brushed the hair away from Harley's face and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

"I didn't want you to s—see."

"Mm," Pam kissed her cheek now and then her lips. "Sweetpea, you're fine. Really. There's no need to be embarrassed. I'm your wife, I'm supposed to be here for you when you need help."

Harley's hands fisted in the fabric of Pam's shirt as she hung her head. "I'm sorry."

"Nonsense," Pam shook her head. "I'm going to draw you a bath, we're going to get you cleaned up, and then I'm going to go speak with Zatanna and try and get to the bottom of this. How does that sound?"

"Don't—leave," Harley pleaded.

Pam shook her head once more, smiling reassuringly. "I happen to have her number in my cellphone. I won't even leave the bathroom if you don't want me to."

"OK," Harley whispered.

Nodding, Pam stood up and turned on the warm water. It would be a moment before the tub was ready, but she didn't exactly want Harley waiting in her urine-soaked pajamas any longer, so she grabbed one of their robes from the back of the door and knelt down next to her once more. "Do you remember how to do this?"

Harley dropped her gaze again, starring at the tile below her. "Yeah."


	55. Chapter 55

Five times Pamela had called; five times it had gone to voicemail.

Frustrated, she tossed her phone off the bed before turning her attention back to Harley who was tucked in beside her. "She's not answering."

Harley was still sniffling, her breathing choppy and shallow. "Pammy, what if I never walk again—what if today was the last time?"

Pam knew that was a possibility, although it was one she wouldn't accept. Even so, she decided to take herself out of the equation and approach this like a parent. Offer a sobering consolation. "But we had a good day, didn't we? Walking through the park with me…that wouldn't be a terrible last day of mobility, would it?"

Harley wiped at her eyes even though she'd run out of tears some time ago. "But Duke can't even walk yet. I can't—I wanted to be able to go to the park with him and show him where we used to take Anthony when he was little. All Duke will ever know is me in a wheelchair."

"Honey, you're his grandmother." Pam reminded her, placing her hand over Harley's heart. "One who already loves him and is invested in him. That's what he's going to care about. Not whether or not you can walk."

"I care, Pamela." Harley said. "I care."

"I know," Pam whispered, kissing her on the head. "And I'll speak with Zatanna first thing in the morning. I'm not sure why she's unavailable, but I'll handle it."

/

"Alright, fine," Zatanna laughed. "It was pretty cliché, really. We flew to Paris—,"

"How?" Dinah asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I knew you were going to do this!" the brunette playfully smacked her friend's arm.

"It's a simple question," Dinah leaned casually against the wall. "Come on. Out with it. What did you fly to Paris on?"

Zatanna sighed before mumbling: "A magic carpet."

Dinah laughed. "What was that?"

The magician rolled her eyes. "A magic carpet, alright?! I told you it was cliché!"

Dinah was laughing when they heard an angry female voice echo down the hallway: "Hey! The fucking fishnet convention!"

They both turned to see an irate-looking Poison Ivy charging towards them.

"Oh, shit," Zatanna cursed under her breath. "Look, Ivy, I'm sorry I missed your ca—ah!" she yelped as a vine shot out of Ivy's arm and wrapped around her ankle, harshly yanking her off of her feet.

"Pamela!" Dinah protested. "It's 8am, for Christ's sake. Have a cup of coffee then reassess."

Ivy was quickly reeling the vine in, dragging Zatanna towards her as she continued to advance.

Panicking slightly, the brunette began to cast a spell before she was gagged by yet another vine that had sprouted off the main one. Ivy was standing above her now, and with fury in her eyes she dropped down to the floor, gabbing Zatanna by the lapel of her tailcoat and sitting on her hips.

"Why didn't you answer?" she demanded, their faces only a breath apart.

…and for a second there, Zatanna wasn't sure if she wanted the vine out of her mouth so she could answer her question or kiss her. "Mm—mm—vvv—ttt—dd!" she unsuccessfully tried to force the words through her gag.

"If you actually came for answers, might be helpful to be able to hear them, huh?" Dinah pointed out.

Evidently deciding she was right, Ivy retracted her vine, and Zatanna sputtered, gulping in the air she'd been deprived of and spitting out the taste of foliage. Ivy, however, refused to change her position, keeping her weight pressed down on her hips.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?" Ivy repeated.

"It was Valentine's Day—damn!" Zatanna was finally able to answer. "I didn't get to my phone until like 3am. Figured I'd just wait until we were face to face. Now get off me! And what the hell do you want?"

Ivy was still glaring at her, but she did relinquish her position, pulling herself to her feet, but pointedly not helping Zatanna to hers. Dinah did that for her. Dusting herself off, the brunette reiterated: "Seriously, what's your problem?"

Glancing quickly at Dinah and apparently deciding the conditions were suitable for her to speak, Ivy said, in a more controlled voice than what she'd used before: "My wife, Harleen…"

"Yeah?" Dinah prompted her to continue.

"She's paralyzed again," Ivy said it like the words pained her to voice. "The spell you cast, it must have worn off. She lost her ability to walk again last night, and she's…afraid."

 _Oh, right. Crap._ "Pamela…"

"It's Ivy," the redhead snapped.

"Ivy," Zatanna corrected. "That spell was always meant to be temporary. You knew that. I told you that back then."

"Yes, but I held up my end of the bargain!" Ivy rather forcefully reminded her. "I went on every idiotic 'Dark' mission you asked me to. I followed your every order. Did you find my performance unsatisfactory? Because that's absolutely ridiculous. I contributed every ounce of what I could."

"Yeah, I know that, Ivy," Zatanna acknowledged. "But I didn't pull the spell, it wore off itself, like you said. It worked like a parasite, rerouting her body's energy. If she can no longer walk, it's because her body decided it needed her energy for other functions."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ivy demanded.

"It means she's tired, Pamela. It means she's getting older and her body doesn't have energy to spare anymore." Zatanna explained. "Again, I told you this the day I cast it."

"But she's not—dying," Ivy told her, spitting the word out like it tasted bitter on her tongue.

"She didn't say she was," Dinah clarified. "She said her body doesn't have the energy budget anymore."

"Don't you have some adolescents to scream at?" Ivy snarled, her eyes nearly glowing as she turned to address the blonde.

"As a matter of fact…" Dinah said, returning the redhead's rigid gaze. "Are you good here, Zee?"

"Yeah," the magician confirmed. "Look, Ivy, I'm sorry, OK? But these things run their course. There's really nothing I can do.

Ivy's mouth twitched in a barely noticeable show of dejected acknowledgment before her features hardened once more. "Useless," she muttered, looking at both women in front of her with something approaching disgust. "Utterly useless."

She retreated from whence she'd come, rounding the corner out of sight at a determined pace. But unlike her approach, her shoulders slouched now, heavy with the weight of Zatanna's answer.

"Damn," Dinah remarked once Ivy had disappeared from view. "She went like full on Jodie Foster on you just then."

Zatanna raised an eyebrow.

"Supremely cranky lesbian," the blonde translated.

/

Ivy stopped walking once she was sure she was alone, ending up in front of one of The Watchtower's large windows.

She pressed her back against the wall, letting herself slide down it until she was sitting on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest.

 _Why now?_

 _Things had been so…wonderful. So effortless._

Ivy supposed she'd just answered her own question. She wasn't meant to be happy. None of them were. There was always some obstacle to overcome, some wood to be lost in…

Her leotard deposited her cellphone in her hand and Ivy sighed as she dialed the number for the first of her two calls.

Anthony picked up after three rings. " _Hey, Mom_ ," he said, and she could hear the smile on his face. " _How are you on this fine Sunday morning?"_

Pam closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. "I've been better." She admitted. "Can you come over this morning, do you think? In an hour, maybe?"

" _Umm…yeah, yes, I think so. Hey, Bee?"_ he raised his voice, pulling his face away from the phone. _"What time is that baby yoga class you're taking Duke to?"_

"3. And its swim class, not yoga," Pam heard Karen say in the background.

 _"_ _Yes, an hour works_ ," Anthony confirmed into the phone. " _We'll see you then. Do you want us to bring anything?"_

Pam sighed, although she hoped not too audibly. "Just yourselves is fine. Your Mother will be happy to see Duke."

Anthony ended the phone call with an "we'll see you then" and then a "love you".

Gathering herself a moment, Pam dialed the second number. This one only rang twice before it was sent straight to voicemail.

 _"_ _You got Jo. Lucky you. Please don't leave a voicemail. I can never remember my password so the notification just sits there screaming at me on my lock screen. Send a text message. You've got fingers, right?"_

Pam rolled her eyes as it beeped, then hissed: "I hope this voicemail haunts your lock screen for all eternity," before hanging up and immediately dialing again.

This time the line rang four times before the real Jo answered, sounding out of breath. _"Top of the mornin' to ya."_

"Are you in the middle of something?" Pam asked.

 _"_ _Uh—nope. Just some cardio,_ " Jo told her. _"What's up?"_

"There's something I'd like to speak to you about in person," Pam kept her tone as light as possible. They'd have plenty of time to be worried later. "Can you be at the house in an hour?"

 _"_ _Mmm—yeah—ah! Yep!"_ Jo agreed to her timetable in a rather bizarre fashion.

Pam furrowed her brow. "Jolene, are you alright?"

 _"_ _Me?"_ Jo asked. _"Yeah, totally. It's just—umm—you know when you're on a machine and you specifically ask it—program it—to slow down but it speeds up instead? Yeah, it's just a—I should get a new one."_

"Well Bruce has quite a few to choose from," Pam reminded her. "No need to torture yourself on a shoddy piece of equipment."

 _"_ _Preach!"_ Jo squeaked. " _K, be there in an hour_."

Pam narrowed her eyes, now positive there was something amiss, before they widened in realization and she angrily pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fantastic." She gritted. "Please see to it that Damian is no longer inside you when you arrive."

Pam had to squeeze the phone tightly enough in her hand that her knuckles turned white after she'd hung up _You've smashed too many phones. Harley said not to do it again until you're eligible for an upgrade._ She shook with anger. _And you can't kill Jo either. Harley is too attached._

"Dr. Isley _."_ Supergirl pulled her out of her thoughts. "Are you OK? What are you doing on the floor?"

"No, I'm not OK," Ivy snarled petulantly. "My wife is paralyzed and the only thoughts that bring me comfort are the ones that revolve around killing my daughter."

Kara looked concerned. "You're…joking, right? That's not a very nice joke."

"I don't have time for this." Ivy stood up. "And yes, I'm… _joking_. About killing my daughter. Not about my wife's paralysis."

Supergirl visibly relaxed before her face contorted into a look of pure sympathy. "Dr.—Pamela, that's…that's horrible. I'm so sorry."

Pam was confused at first by the woman's kindness…before she remembered that seemed to be part of the House of El DNA. "Thank you." She barely had time to nod before Kara was pulling her into a tight hug.

"If you buy her a box of chocolates, I'll pay you back. You don't have to say they're from me, if you don't want to." the Kryptonian murmured into her hair.

Pam almost laughed. "That's…sweet of you, thank you."

/

"Dude, what the fuck?!" Jo smacked Damian across the face as he stifled a laugh. "I asked you to wait like two fucking seconds. Now my Mom—,"

"—knows you're not a virgin?" Damian guessed. "How awful. And you had such a sterling reputation before."

"You're an asshole," Jo informed, climbing off of him and out of bed.

"Hey!" he protested. "Where are you going?"

Pulling open the drawer that she stashed a few articles of clothing in, Jo asked: "are you familiar with the Stanford marshmallow experiment?"

Damian propped himself up in bed. "What?"

"It was a study on delayed gratification in the 60s and 70s," Jo explained. "The researcher would leave a child alone in a room with one marshmallow and tell them that, if they waited 15 minutes, they'd come back with another marshmallow, so they could have two. But if the child chose to eat the one instead of wait, that's it. That's all they got."

"So…"

"You ate the marshmallow, Damian." She said, pulling a pair of light wash jeans over her thighs. "So I am withholding the second."

"Ugh," Damian groaned, flopping back into the pillows. "Why would you even answer? It's 8am on a Sunday, you get one day off per week. She didn't think you'd be sleeping?"

Jo rolled her eyes, ignoring his assertion. "You picked me up last night, meaning I'm gonna need a ride home, too. So…take care of yourself or whatever and let's go."

/

"Karen, really, you don't have to bring that." Anthony assured her as he buckled Duke into his carseat and Karen climbed into the passenger. "They've forgiven you, and even if they hadn't, I'm not sure that would help."

"The lady said it was the right choice for any occasion. Everyone likes cheese, Anthony," Karen explained.

Closing the door on Duke and starting the car from the driver's seat, Anthony reminded her that: "my Mom can't even eat cheese. And where'd you get that, by the way?"

"In the fridge."

"Our fridge?" Anthony pulled away.

"Yeah, our fridge."

"Well I didn't buy it," he told her. "Did you?"

"Umm…" Karen furrowed her brow, thinking on that. "I'm really not sure."

Anthony glanced over at it in her lap as he stopped at a red light. "What kind is it?"

"White?"

"White? Is it supposed to be white?"

Karen held up the package for examination. "Uh—yes?"

"OK, give me that," Anthony snatched it away from her, tossing it into the back beside Duke. "Just, let's leave it."

"Can we stop and get them some champagne or something, then? We could have mimosas," Karen suggested. "That's fun, right?"

"Both my parents have been retired since I was like 12 years old," Anthony reminded her. "And my Mother is Poison Ivy. They'll have champagne and orange juice on site, don't worry."

Evidently deciding he was right, Karen sighed and leaned back against the headrest. "Fine. I just...do you ever feel like your parents only tolerate me because of Duke?"

"What?" Anthony sounded legitimately surprised as he rounded the final corner on the short drive to their destination. "Karen, you're a dream come true. I'm serious. You're…" he trailed off as he pulled into his parent's driveway. "Head and shoulders above the competition."

Karen followed his gaze to find Jo and Damian sloppily making out on the porch. "Oh…yeah, I might be moving in to 'daughter they never had' territory."

"Rapidly," Anthony agreed, getting out of the car. "Oh, good, so that's still gross," called up to the porch, causing them to break apart in reaction. "Good to know even disgruntled automatons get horny, though, Damian. That'll help me in my research."

"Ironic since that crisp button-down screams 'Stepford husband'." Jo called back. "Your PhD should be in ironing."

"We prefer 'Stepford baby-daddy', thank you." Karen corrected as she came around the car, walking up to the porch with Duke on her hip, Anthony in tow. "Congratulations on your Teen Vogue cover, you two looked…appropriately nauseating."

"Don't remind me," Damian grimaced.

"Yeah, we're relationship goals, heart-eye emoji, heart-eye emoji." Jo deadpanned, but her face broke out into a wide smile when she turned her attention to Duke. "What up, Little D?"

"You're going to give him a complex," Anthony chastised as he knocked on the door.

Pam opened it a moment later, looking uncharacteristically tired. Her Oxford shirt only halfway tucked into her jeans and her hair pulled up into a loose ponytail.

"I guess Mom finally watched _The Kids Are Alright_." Jo remarked.

"You and you," Pam pointed an accusatory finger at her daughter and then at Damian. "Are so high up my shit list right now you're closing in on Booster Gold."

Jo furrowed her brow. "Isn't he dead?"

"Yes," Pam confirmed. "And if I was given the power to reach into the afterlife only once, I would use it to punch him in the face. That's how much I hate him. That's the company you're keeping. Nevertheless," she exhaled. "Thank you all for coming."

"What's going on, Mom?" Anthony asked, slowly growing concerned. "Is everything Alright?...besides The Kids, I mean."

Jo snorted and Pam drummed her fingers on the doorframe, her eyes narrowing. "Your Mother and I have something to discuss with you," she intoned, her voice barely louder than a whisper, turning into the house and leaving them at the open door.

Jo held out her hand for a low five, which Anthony provided as he stepped into the house, following the familiar path to the living room where he found Pam standing behind Harley…who was sitting in her wheelchair, staring blankly at the ground just in front of her wheels.

"That's quite the throwback," Anthony chuckled as Karen, Damian and Jo filed in behind him.

Harley blinked, raising her gaze to look at them…and it was then Anthony noticed that her eyes were puffy—presumably from crying.

"Can I hold the baby?" she asked, her voice raspy and cracking.

Karen looked at her oddly, and then at Duke. "Yes, of course." She moved forward, gently placing her baby on Harley's lap.

"What's—this is weird," Jo realized. "Seriously, you guys are freaking me out. What's going on?"

Pam cleared her throat. "H—,"

"—I can't walk." Harley cut her off, not breaking eye contact with Duke as she smiled softly at him. "The spell wore off, Zatanna can't cast it again, there's nothing we can do, I can't walk."

Anthony's jaw went slack. "I'm—I'm sorry?"

"I don't want to say it again," Harley told them as she planted a kiss on Duke's cheek. "You're bigger every time I see you, you know that?"

"Wait, Ma," Jo seemed to be having as difficult a time as Anthony processing this. "You mean you're—paralyzed again?"

"Yes," Pam confirmed when Harley didn't answer. "She's not sick or hurt, it's just her body can no longer utilize the spell."

"Ma, I—," Anthony got on his knees so he could look her in the face. "Ma, I'm so sorry! I didn't even—God, I'm so sorry."

Again, Harley didn't answer, but from her clenched jaw and glassy eyes he could tell she was recruiting all her willpower to avoid bursting into tears.

"We wanted to tell you both—or, you all, I should say—in person because although I'm perfectly capable of taking care of her on my own," Pam began. "I did it the first time, after all—there may be times moving forward when my League membership might keep me away from the house, as it sometimes does. So it's possible we'll need to call on you in the future for assistance should I be unavailable."

"Better start putting together a timecard," Harley mumbled sourly.

"Harleen, you know that's not what I mean," Pam scolded. "Please, I'm just trying to be realistic."

"You guys can just go ahead and put me in a nursing home," Harley told them. "I don't care."

"Darling, please," Pam sighed, gently squeezing her shoulders. "This is difficult for everyone. I think the most important thing is that we're here for each other and take the time to understand the challenges that might arise from this new development."

"I have to go," Jo said rather suddenly, backing herself out of the room.

Pam rolled her eyes. "Jolene, what did I just say? Do you think you could manage a shred of maturity?"

Jo shook her head, although it looked like it was more to shake away her surroundings than an answer to her Mother's question. "I have to go." And with that, she turned, quickly exiting the living room and then the house.

Anthony pulled himself to his feet. "I'll go—,"

"—no," Damian stopped him. "I can handle it." He started for the door, and soon it was only Anthony and Karen that remained with Harley and Pam, the baby still on Harley's lap.

"She gets overwhelmed," Anthony attempted to explain away Jo's behavior.

"I know what she does," Harley assured him, smiling halfheartedly as she gently squeezed the rolls of Duke's wrist. "Time to put on her song."

Anthony had only seen Harley in her wheelchair in pictures. This was…surreal. She'd been the most active person he'd ever known—and that was saying something as he'd grown up around Catwoman and every member of the Bat-family. Imagining a world in which his Mother couldn't run, walk, or even stand…it hurt him. Deep in his chest, it hurt.

"Ma, are you…are you gonna be OK?" it was a stupid question, he knew that…but suddenly Anthony realized that ache was fear. Fear and sadness. And his parents had always been there to alleviate that for him. So, still, he needed them to help him, even if, in this moment, he knew he should have been comforting them instead.

Harley's bottom lip quivered and Pam took her cue, lifting Duke off of her lap before Harley spread her arms and Anthony rushed into them.

"I'm sorry, Ma," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "You're gonna be OK. I mean I know you're gonna be OK."


	56. Chapter 56

"You're happy? You're settled?" Pam asked, standing next to the bed she'd just tucked Harley into in her typical oversized t-shirt. "You're sure you don't need anything else?"

Harley sighed. "Yep. Happy as a clam. A paralyzed clam."

"Well," Pam began as she climbed into bed beside her. "Technically clams don't have legs, so I'm not sure you needed to amend your original statement."

"Read the room, Pamela," Harley exhaled, her eyes trained on the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Pam mumbled, laying on her side to look at her. "May I put my arm around you?"

Harley could picture the quietly hopeful expression on her wife's face without even looking. "Yeah," she muttered.

And Pam readily complied, wrapping her arm around Harley's waist and snuggling close to her, her face nuzzling into Harley's neck. "If you need anything during the night, please don't hesitate to wake me."

"OK," Harley could feel Pam's long lashes flutter against her neck as her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Harley's remained open. The week since the spell wore off was the worst week of sleep she'd had since she said those awful things to Pam in the car after the party all those years ago. All those…18 years ago. Although, this time, her wife was sleeping beside her rather than in the green house, which was a welcome variation. "Pam?"

"Hm?" she hummed in response.

"Can you—umm…try to touch me?" Harley was embarrassed so her request came out shaky.

"I don't need to try," Pam mumbled. "I'm touching you right now."

"No, I—I mean can you try to, you know…touch me. To see if I can…the first time we figured out ways to…"

She felt Pam pull away from her. "Oh—yes, sure. Should I—would you like me to kiss you? Or…"

"I'd like you to not make it fucking weird," Harley snapped, coming off way harsher than she'd meant to. "You don't have to make it a whole production, I just—I want to know."

"I understand," Pam acknowledged, gently taking Harley's chin between her thumb and forefinger and turning her head to face her on the pillow. Pam's eyes flitted down to her lips momentarily before returning her gaze once more, moving her hand now to reverently stroke her cheek with her index finger.

"What?" Harley breathed, her chest suddenly tight.

Pam smiled serenely. "I just feel so…warm every time I get to kiss you."

On instinct, Harley thought to move towards her…until she remembered her catheter tethered her to that spot…meaning she'd have to pick up her bag to move…and use her arms to drag her lower body…and—luckily her increasingly depressing thoughts were cut off when Pam affectionately bumped their noses together.

"You'll always be perfect to me, Daffodil," she whispered, her breath warm against Harley's lips, and the blonde allowed her eyes to flutter shut. "Always. Even when it's just me in this bed. I'll go to sleep every night remembering the feeling of your body pressed against mine…I'll remember the curve of your lips and the blue of your eyes…" her hand languidly made its way under Harley's shirt below the covers. "And I'll be grateful for how you loved me…and for how you let me love you." Harley's breath hitched as Pam gently squeezed and swirled and pinched. "I'm so lucky," she murmured.

And Harley was pretty sure she was about to cry before Pam pressed her lips to hers, softly at first, but then gaining intensity in a transition only Pam could seamlessly manage. How she could be so tender and overwhelming all at the same time Harley would never understand, but it was always something she'd marveled at.

Her eyes closed tighter as Pam dragged her hand away from her breast down her stomach, and…

Well that was anticlimactic.

Again.

She remembered this now, how she could feel some pressure but no sensation. How hard she'd had to focus in order to feel the slightest twinge of pleasure anywhere below her waist. How an orgasm was really just visualizing one and then convincing herself that what she was feeling was real. "Pam, stop." She opened her eyes to find that her wife's had been closed as well.

They opened immediately after Harley spoke, filled with worry. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, it's—I'm tired…I can't." And then it hit her that she'd basically phoned it in the last time they'd been intimate…and that was the last time they were ever going to be intimate.

Pam leaned over her, wiping Harley's tears away as they fell. "Shhh…" she soothed. "Darling, be patient. We learned last time that this was a marathon, not a sprint."

"I don't have time for a marathon, Pam."

That reminder seemed to hurt Pam as much as it did Harley as she pressed their foreheads together. "I'll figure it out."

/

Jo flopped down on the couch in Harley's office with a groan, pressing the heels of her palms into her closed eyelids before dragging her hands down her face.

"There are beds upstairs, you know." Damian's voice came from the open doorway, startling her.

"Jesus," she jumped. "Take a fucking hint, Bro. I'm trying to sleep."

"You can't sleep on the couch," Damian reasoned.

"Weird, since I'm laying on the couch, about to go to sleep." She shut her eyes once more, attempting to tune him out.

"How was the meet?"

"Fine," Jo mumbled. "The team placed second, but one of our girls won the all-around. Anyway, can I help you?" she still wasn't looking at him.

"I…you haven't…you've been different since the thing with Harleen," he told her, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. "And Carrie said it might help if I was—uh—there for you. So…I'm doing that."

Jo squinted at him. "Doing what?"

"Being there for you." He told her. "I'm, umm…here." He awkwardly pet her head.

"Umm…OK?" Jo acknowledged. "Thanks, I guess?"

He came around to sit at her feet on the couch, his movements strange and overly measured as he gently placed her legs across his lap.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Jo frowned at him. "Why are you wearing a tux?"

"It's after 6. What am I, a farmer?" Damian answered, sounding mildly scandalized.

She snorted, kicking him in the leg. "You're such a prick." He didn't smile then, rare was the occasion he let slip an external example of happiness, but Jo could tell he wanted to, and that was good enough for her as she laid her head back down.

"Have you talked to her?" he asked after a moment of fairly comfortable silence.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid. Obviously." Jo answered plainly.

"Why?" Damian asked again.

"Umm…because Ma's in a fucking wheelchair again and she's the strongest person I ever knew and she raised me and took care of me and the idea that I now have to help take care of her is fucking terrifying?" Jo blurted out. "Yeah, probably that."

"Oh," Damian mumbled.

"Oh," Jo agreed, closing her eyes once more and rolling onto her side.

"…well I think fear is useless except for as a motivator," Damian told her.

"Thank you," Jo mocked. "I feel very consoled."

"But, I think…" he continued. "Perhaps, if my legs were suddenly taken away from me after a lifetime of relying on my physical prowess…I might…allow myself to feel afraid for a moment. Especially if I felt like I was letting down people who relied on me by needing to ask for help instead of providing it."

/

Pam frowned at her phone, not liking the findings in the last article and moving on, her feet casually up on the table in the rec room.

"I did it on accident!" Kara suddenly said from the other side of the table. "Really, I meant to accept it."

The redhead looked up from her screen. "Come again?"

"Your friend request, on Facebook." Kara clarified, setting down her apple juice. "I swear I meant to accept it. It was a total accident. You can request me again if you want. I'll totally say yes this time."

Confused, Pam said: "I don't have a Facebook account."

"Oh," Kara adjusted herself uncomfortably in her chair. "But I could have sworn 'Pamela Isley' sent me a friend request."

"Then it was either a fake account or a fan page as the 'Pamela Isley' name is blatantly synonymous with Poison Ivy, and I wouldn't use it to conduct affairs outside this skin color or my immediate family." Ivy told her.

"Oh," Kara said again. "So then what are you frowning about?"

"The female orgasm," Ivy answered plainly.

Kara choked on her apple juice, her last drink having been poorly timed.

 _"_ _Dr. Isley, would you kindly report to the conference room?"_ Martian Manhunter's voice rang out in her head.

"Goddamn it, Zatanna," she muttered, handing her phone to a vine reaching out of her leotard and pulling her feet back from the table. "Remind me to conduct my next warranted assault out of view of the security cameras."

"Wha—uh—OK," Kara sputtered, likely still recovering from hearing the word 'orgasm', which had apparently traumatized her.

Ivy exited the rec room, heading down the hall towards the conference room, which she found was full of some of her higher-ranking colleagues.

"Pamela," Wonder Woman welcomed her as the heavy door shut her inside. "Please, have a seat."

Ivy obliged, starring Zatanna down the entire time. The brunette swallowed, averting her eyes as Ivy bore holes into her with her gaze. "If this is about my conversation with Chris Angel's mistress in the hallway last week…"

"It's not," Black Canary assured her, though not too kindly.

Superman cleared his throat, clearly understanding the reference, but moving past it. "No, Ivy, we've decided you now qualify as a senior member. And we wanted you to sit in on this meeting with us because all senior members get a voice in recruitment."

Diana pressed a button that turned on the screen in the table in front of Ivy, everyone else with a seat at the table had one as well.

"Recruitment?" Ivy asked.

"Every year we have a meeting to weigh in on candidates for new membership into both our organization and our various other training and junior programs." Diana explained. "Some of us have chosen to champion a candidate, some have not, but all testimony given will be entered into the hero candidate's file and be factored into our individual assessments of him or her."

"So let's get started." Clark smiled. "Our first candidate for League Membership is Superboy." The displays all changed simultaneously, going from the generic Justice League logo to a picture of dark haired, blue-eyed boy with that signature Kryptonian boy scout smile. Next to the picture was a list of his physical characteristics, powers and abilities, estimated IQ, and a laundry list of his various qualifications and heroic acts. "Given name, Jon Lane Kent—he's my son," Clark said proudly, blushing slightly. "Half-Kryptonian, half-human, his powers are very similar to what you've seen from Kara, Connor and me. As a young boy he had issues with consistency and power fluctuations, but that hasn't been an issue in some time. He joined the Young Justice program at 16 and was—by all accounts—a valuable member of the team until he transitioned to the Titans."

"I can vouch for that," Dinah confirmed. "In his file is my letter of recommendation, if any of you are curious. He's deeply caring and wants to protect anything and everything, which has caused him a little trouble…but I think we can continue working on his decision making once he's here."

"Thank you," Wonder Woman said. "Does anyone else have an argument for or against they'd like to make?"

"Not an argument, just a question," Ivy spoke up. "It says here he's 24…wouldn't that be considered a man? Why are you still calling him Superboy? Is this a Neverland type situation?"

The woman who Ivy recognized as Raven snorted, and Diana let a barely noticeable smirk slip before she said: "if that's all, let's take it to a vote. Majority rules. For Mr. Kent's approval, raise your hand and say 'aye'."

Everyone raised their hand…Ivy being the last. "I'm sorry, shouldn't Supergirl be included in this meeting? I haven't been here much longer."

"She doesn't want to be," Clark told her. "Having to choose upsets her. She just wants everyone to be included."

"Ah," Ivy understood as a virtual "APPROVED" stamp was placed over Jon's face and a new file came on screen.

"Aquagirl," Aquaman took over. "Mareena Curry, my daughter, is seeking entrance to the Young Justice program."

The girl in the picture was only 10, according to her file, despite having white hair. "Isn't she a little young?" Ivy asked.

"She's mine and Mera's biologically, and we're having a hard time harnessing her abilities, to be totally honest." Arthur told them, sounding almost ashamed. "She has more potential than both of us, and she wants to do good, but keeping her down in Atlantis…she craves a look at the outside world. She's getting restless. Kaldur'ahm found the program very helpful, and I think Mareena might be more responsive to coaching from someone other than Mera or I."

Pam smiled at the picture now, deciding she reminded her of Jo at that age. 10 was such a wonderful age.

"Understood," Diana nodded. "Dinah? Your opinion obviously matters here. Anything to say for the record?"

"I'm up for the challenge," the blonde smiled.

"For Aquagirl's approval." Diana prompted.

There were a few holdouts this time, but Ivy raised her hand high. She liked Mera, and Arthur was more than adequate, as far as men went. She was sure their daughter would be successful if given the proper tools.

"APPROVED" was stamped atop the girl's face and her file was erased from the screen.

"Next…Batman." Clark said. "This is Bruce's biological son, Damian. Mother: Talia al Ghul. Damian has worked closely with my son before, so I can personally vouch that he's every bit as talented as his father."

"And every bit as stubborn," Arthur added.

"Right," Clark chuckled.

Pam forced her eyes to keep from rolling. _Sure, Damian. What else do you want? You already haunt my holiday's and my phone calls with my daughter…why not fuck up my professional life as well?_

"Bruce included a letter of recommendation, and despite his reputation, he served as a valuable member of the Titans all throughout his adolescence." Diana reminded them. "He's more than qualified for membership. That's my personal stance."

"If he can get his attitude under control," Arthur began.

"He's improving," Pam mumbled.

All eyes turned to her. "What?" the brunette Arrow guy with a stupid name that Ivy could never remember asked.

"Damian is improving," Ivy said, a bit louder. "I—," she cleared her throat. "As a hero…on a professional basis…I trust his skill. And although he's truly detestable, he does attempt to conduct himself—to some degree—in the image of his Father. Bruce wouldn't have turned over the mantle to him if he didn't believe Damian would act in the best interest of the human population of Gotham City."

There was a moment of silence as everyone thought on that before Clark spoke up. "For approval, raise a hand."

 _I hate myself_ , Pam thought over and over again as she slowly raised her hand.

"APPROVED".

Ivy's stomach turned in disgust before Damian's file gave way to the next.

"Hellbat," Arthur said before the digital file opened, evidently reading off a list Ivy hadn't been provided with.

"I'm sorry, who?" Ivy asked…before the file opened and answered her question. "Oh, God," she covered her face with sudden embarrassment.

"Given name: Jolene I. Quinzel," Diana read aloud. "Was recommended to the Young Justice program by Damian Wayne. She's served the Bat-family for four years now, in her file is another letter of recommendation from Bruce. In it he acknowledges past morality concerns, but says there's no reason to fear an alignment switch."

"No," Ivy said, crossing her arms. "First of all, 'Hellbat' is an extraordinarily stupid name, and secondly: No, absolutely not. She has far too much on her plate right now and she's easily overwhelmed. Her coping mechanisms are regularly reckless and immature…no. She's good where she is."

Brunette-Arrow scoffed. "You sound like her Mom."

"I'm sorry, what's your name again?" Pam asked.

"Roy—Arsenal."

"He yours?" she nodded at Canary.

"Oliver's protégé," the Canary explained.

"Well I preferred the blonde one," Ivy told her.

"He's retired."

"And why aren't you?" Ivy inquired. "What fountain of youth have you been sipping on?"

Dinah cleared her throat. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Oh, I see how it is," Ivy scoffed. "Next time you see Talia, tell her I said she could choke."

Diana lightly cleared her throat to interrupt them. "She is Jolene's Mother, Roy. And as such, her concerns are valid as well as biased. So, please, everyone take Pamela's assessment with a grain of salt."

"Wh—you all advocated for your children!" Ivy loudly reminded them. "I took your recommendations as the unimpeded truth, but suddenly because I wouldn't recommend my daughter be inducted you all choose not to listen?"

"Well I disagree with your assessment, Pamela. I don't think she is reckless," Diana told her. "She comes off as calculating to me, and to Bruce as well, according to his recommendation. And if anyone is going to make the 'but she's killed before' argument, I challenge you to find a hero among us who hasn't. You're certainly no exception, Pamela. Bruce came in here 40 years ago and vouched for you, told us not to define you by your past, but by your potential. And you panned out rather well, I'd say. I think we can all agree on that."

There was some unorganized head nodding around the table.

"I've watched her training tapes, I've seen her aptitude scores, I've read Bruce and Damian's assessments of her," Diana continued. "And like you, or like Aquagirl, given the right environment and coaching, she could be an asset to us for years to come. That's why I'm recommending she be assigned to the Titans. Damian and Jon moving on means there's room on the team, and Ms. Quinzel has the skills and experience to fill it."

"Everyone in favor, say 'aye'." Superman prompted.

/

Harleen started her 14th consecutive round of Candy Crush.

Pam was late. She'd said she'd be home by 8 and it was already 9 o'clock. _So much for Scrabble night…_

See, the worst part about being paralyzed, besides—you know—being paralyzed, was having to live according to other people's schedules.

Harley was tired. Dead tired. Why? She had no idea. Not like she'd fucking done anything that day. Just sat in her electric chair and wheeled herself around the house. Regardless, she'd have to wait until Pam got home to go to sleep. Her catheter needed to be emptied, she needed to be carried to bed, Pam needed to help her with those pointless atrophy exercises…but Pam wasn't here, and Harley wasn't about to send another text so that she could sound more needy.

Her ears pricked up at the sound of a knock at the door. One that began with confidence, but then quickly trailed off into reluctant.

 _Great_ , Harley thought, wheeling herself in the direction of the door. _Maybe I'll be murdered by a nervous burglar. A fitting end._

But when she opened the door it was Jo standing on the porch, soaking wet—presumably from the rain that was beating down on the pavement. In her hands she was holding a bouquet of roses, a pizza and a DVD.

"Hi," Jo said, starring down at her feet until she gathered the courage to look Harley in the eye.

"It wasn't over for me!" Harley said. "I waited for you for 7 years!"

And immediately, all the worry melted off of Jo's face, replaced by a wide grin. "I wrote you 365 letters."

"Not on paper, I hope. Your Mom would throw a fit." Harley smirked.

"No, no. Email. Don't worry." Jo assured her.

"What's with the dismembered corpses?" Harley asked, nodding at the flowers, her heart beating fast in her chest in an unexpected reaction to seeing her daughter. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed her this past week.

"Oh, Umm, Damian didn't get me anything for Valentine's Day, and Selina found out and got these for me then said they were from Damian," Jo explained. "And they're still alive, so maybe I've got plant powers after all."

Harley bit her lip to keep from laughing. "You re-gifted me your Valentine's roses."

"It wasn't over. It still isn't over!" Jo said with a dramatized sincerity. "No, it's just—you've got roses on your engagement ring, so I figured you liked em."

"Right," Harley smiled, trying to hide the PLEASE STAY that was probably hiding in her eyes. "Do you want to—umm—come in?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Jo smiled nervously, moving forward as Harley backed up into the house.

"You brought pizza?" Harley asked, wheeling into the kitchen, hearing Jo follow behind her—but not too closely.

"I—yeah. Canadian bacon pineapple. Best of both worlds." Jo set the pizza down on the counter as Harley turned her chair to face her. "Mom's not here?"

"She's working."

"Ah, good—I mean—cool, that's, umm…" Jo was obviously struggling here. "I don't mean it's good she's not here, I just mean—I came to talk to _you_ , so…I'm glad you're—yeah."

"Good sentencing." Harley chuckled. "I can see you're putting every point of that genius IQ to good use."

"Yeah, you bet," Jo laughed nervously. "Uh—look, Ma…I love you."

Harley nodded slowly. "But you're so tired of disappointing me?" Jo's face went white, her smile falling immediately, and Harley panicked. "Oh, no, Honey, I was quoting _The Vow_. I thought we were doing a Rachel McAdams thing."

"Fuck," Jo exhaled, visible relief washing over her. "Thank God. No, I—remember when I was little? And I'd squeeze too hard when I hugged you or—like—overwhelmed you with kisses? That's how much I still love you. I love you lots and I just…I don't ever want anything bad to happen to you because I'm so happy you're my Mama, you know? And I—I freaked out, and I'm so sorry. I was just scared and I didn't know what to do with it and then I was angry—not at you, just like…I sorta wished I was raised with a religion for a second so that I could have a God to be mad at besides Wonder Woman's Dad or whatever."

Jo ran a hand through her hair to soothe herself and it suddenly hit Harley how similar to Pam Jo could be. And not just in terms of physical resemblance, which was making more and more sense with each passing year, but also their energy. How nervous Jo got, how stressed and overwhelmed. How she overreacted or underreacted to things…and how quickly she too could cross over into Ivy territory.

"—you know?" evidently Jo had continued talking and Harley had completely tuned it out. _Oops_.

So she just nodded silently. _Can't go wrong, right?_

…which, according to the smile that spread over Jo's face in reaction, seemed to be the right answer.

"And I try my best not to listen to anything he says because he's the worst and sucks at life," Jo continued (?), opening the pizza box and then the cupboard to get them both plates. "But he does occasionally say stuff that doesn't make me want to punch him, which is nice, and this happened to be one of those times. I was just scared you'd be different and I was scared I'd have to be strong, and sometimes…I mean, I try, but—it's been so weird being with him—,"

 _—_ _wait, who? Damn it, I knew I should have listened._

"—and just…it makes me realize how special you guys are. Like, did you know that he'd never heard 'I love you' before I said it to him? Literally no one had ever told him they loved him. Not Bruce, not Selina, definitely not Talia—,"

 _Oh, Damian. She's talking about Damian. Wait—she said what?_

"And it made me so sad, but then when I told him it was like—I don't know—like a piece was falling into place. Something he'd been missing before, something I'd always had. So yeah, I brought you roses because love is…love is good! It's great and it's important and I used to think it was overrated…but then I gave it to someone who hadn't had it before and it's…it's just good. So I love you and I love him and I just—umm...I see how much Mom loves you and that's—it's wonderful, I think."

 _Whaaat is going on right now_? Harley was moving into alarm as the observed the bright pink in her daughter's cheeks.

"And—fuck—it must be—Christ—it must be so fucking scary not being to walk." Jo was— _wow_ —still talking. "But Mom…Mom loves being able to love you, ya know? Like…I see her, still! Now! After all this bullshit and me and Anthony, she still lights up every time she sees you. You two are a team. For my whole life I've seen you guys work through everything as a team, and I think—that's the only way to handle something like this. So, I think…yeah, you're scared…but deep down I think maybe you know you don't have to be because you still have Mom and she's never leaving and she still loves you and to her you'll always be the woman who helped her get out of Arkham or rolled down the aisle or—whatever! It's just…you're you and that's what she loves. You." Jo happily took a bite of pizza, leaving Harley at a loss for words.

 _I mean…I guess she's right? Somewhere in that word salad she made some sense? But hold up—I wasn't even down with her sleeping with Damian, loving him is a whole new sandpit of shit._

"Whhhat's the movie?" was all that Harley could come up with.

"Oh," Jo swallowed. "Well I'm not totally sure about it, OK? If it makes things worse or upsets you I can just trash it."

"What is it?" Harley's curiosity was piqued and she tried to sit up straighter in her chair to see the cover.

"Well…" Jo cleared her throat. "It's you. Every one of your gymnastics meets that was ever recorded and every news clip that ever showed you as Batgirl or Batwoman. People say all the time how they wish they could go to their own funeral…"

"So this is a funeral for my legs." Harley realized.

"It's dumb." Jo said quickly. "I'm sorry. It seemed like a better idea in my head. Carrie got all the clips together and even she said it was a stupid idea. I'm sorry. It's offensive, isn't it?"

Harley wasn't quite sure, honestly. Just reliving everything she'd never be able to do again? Not that she was still jumping off of buildings or doing backflips when the spell wore off… "OK." She said, her voice quieter than she'd expected. "Let's watch it."

"Yeah?" Jo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised (and excited). "Cool. Do you…want some pizza first?"

"I think we can multitask." Harley smiled.

"Right duh," Jo grinned as she piled their plates full of pizza. "After you."

Harley led the way to the living room, so happy to not be alone, coming to a stop in front of the couch as Jo set the plates down on the coffee table.

"Is that—umm—do you have to stay in your chair?" Jo asked. "Do you want to?"

"Uh—no but you'd, umm…" Harley scrambled just as awkwardly as Jo had in the kitchen. "You have to move the bag too, and—uh—me."

Jo nodded in understanding, putting the DVD into the player before crossing back over to the chair, looking calmer than she did before. Silently, she leaned over, slipping her right arm beneath Harley's knees and her left across her upper back. "I think maybe you should grab on?" she murmured.

Instantly, Harley flashed on Jo gnawing on the slats of her crib. On attempting to feed her cheerios and watching Pam bounce her happily on her hip. On watching Jo take her first stumbling steps and do her first handstand…to kissing her cheek before her flag football games and watching her tear off across the marble floor into Pam's waiting arms, nearly toppling them both over…this was Harley's baby. Harley's little girl…but now it was Harley being carried and set gently down on the couch, just like she'd sat Jo down on the couch a million times, trying to convince her to sit still so they could enjoy a movie.

Jo set the bag from the back of her wheelchair beside them, minding the hose and grabbing for their pizza and the remote before sitting back and snuggling in next to Harley, helping to keep her upright by offering her shoulder.

/

Pam knew she was late, and she absolutely hated it.

 _But fuck them, approving my daughter without my consent._

The guilt was heavy in her gut, pulling at her with each heavy step up the driveway and onto the porch.

Unlocking the door, the first thing out of her mouth was: "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, honestly. I tried to get home sooner, I really did.

Silence.

"Harls?" _I hope she didn't try to get in bed herself…_

But her relief spread quickly as she stepped into the living room to find Harley asleep on the couch…Harley asleep on the couch with Jo.

The two were snoring peacefully, Harley's head resting on Jo's shoulder and Jo using Harley's head as a pillow in return.

Blinking at the strangely tranquil scene laid out in front of her, Pam turned to see the TV was playing what looked like old home video. Of Harley, she realized.

She looked around 15 in the video, wearing a shiny red leotard, the bangs spilling out onto her forehead extremely appropriate for the year denoted in the corner of the screen: 1986.

 _'_ _86, so this was the year that_ … _but she was so young, and her smile was so innocent_ … _who would hurt that child? Why?_

Pam had to turn it off, her stomach ache too severe at the thought of her wife being preyed upon at such a young age. Just like Jo…well…different, but they did have a similar essence. The girl on that tape and the one sleeping on the couch.

 _Why was Jo here?_

That was the question Pam knew she should ask…but looking at the girl's expression now…the only one she wanted to ask was _why did she ever leave?_

Pam hated to disturb them, but it was late and Harley's catheter needed emptying and changing, her muscles needed moving…there was a routine in place that couldn't be deviated from. So, as quietly and as steadily as she could manage, Pam moved Harley away from Jo, picking her up, along with the bag, and heading for the stairs.

Jo didn't seem to mind, laying down in the spot Harley had just vacated…or at least Pam thought she didn't mind, until Jo spoke, her words slow as she'd just woken up. "You need help?"

And the guilt in Pam's stomach was suddenly overtaken with something warmer, something kinder…something like gratefulness. "No. You just sleep; I'll see you in the morning."

"K," Jo mumbled, surrendering herself to sleep once more.


	57. Chapter 57

"Alright, you got all your stuff?" Karen prompted.

"Uh huh," Duke said from the back seat, looking apprehensively out the window.

Narrowing her eyes at him in the rearview mirror, Karen asked: "What's the matter?

"Maybe my flowers aren't good," he said, starring down at the yellow marigolds in his lap. "Maybe she will not like them."

"Baby, Grandma's never met a flower she didn't like," Karen assured him, pulling into the driveway. "Daddy and I will come back after work and we'll all have dinner here, OK? I'll be back before you know it."

"Yeah, OK," Duke mumbled, unbuckling his seat belt and waiting for Karen to come around and let him out (Anthony had enabled the child lock some time ago and now they couldn't figure out how to take it off).

His feet landed on the ground with a stomp to enable his light up shoes, and for a moment, he didn't seem so nervous. Then he reached behind him and grabbed the flowers from the seat, holding them close to his chest, careful not to spill even a speck of soil from the plastic container.

"You ready?" Karen asked.

Duke nodded silently, allowing her to lead the way, but keeping close to her side, turning down her outstretched hand and electing to dedicate all his attention to the delicate flowers in his hand.

Karen headed towards the side gate, the one that led to the backyard, using the key she'd been given to unlock it before ushering Duke inside. "Hey," she called out, shutting it behind her. "We're here."

Pam looked up from where she was kneeling in the garden—weeding, by the looks of it. She offered a warm smile, but didn't get up. And it was Harley whose voice they heard first.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed from her chair on the back porch. "Duke, where did you get those shoes?!"

"Daddy got them at the store," he told her as she rolled down the ramp towards him.

"Do you think they'd fit me?" she asked, stopping just in front of them.

"No," Duke shook his head.

"Oh," Harley feigned disappointment. "Is it cuz my feet are too small?"

"No, they're too big, Nana. Stop being silly," he giggled.

"Me? Silly?" Harley grinned. "Nuh uh, no way, no how, never."

"No, always!" Duke disagreed.

Harley crinkled her nose teasingly at him as Karen cleared her throat. "I should be back by like 7:00, if that's alright."

"You mean I get to hang out all day with this munchkin?" Harley asked, obviously more for Duke than Karen.

"I'm not a munchkin." He told her, frowning. "They scare me."

Harley bit her lip to keep another grin at bay. "The Munchkins scare you?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "And the lion. And the tin guy. And the scarecrow."

Karen sighed, she'd been through this more than a few times already, but Harley seemed to be having fun.

"Well what about the witch?" she asked. "Does she scare you?"

"No," he giggled like that was a silly question. "She's just an ugly Grandma."

"Yes, well, when you ostracize and misunderstand brilliant, green skinned lesbians, they tend to turn bitter." Pam offered from the garden.

Harley furrowed her brow, looking at Pam over her shoulder. "Elphaba was a lesbian? With who?"

"Glinda," Pam told her. "The blonde. But you don't need to have a female love interest to be a lesbian."

"The good witch," Duke corrected.

It appeared that Harley's mind had been sufficiently blown, so Karen nodded, taking a deep breath. "Sweet. I'll see you guys later." She leaned down to kiss her son on the top of the head. "Be good, Baby."

"Wait!" he grabbed onto her shirt, keeping her in place and lifting up onto his tip toes, Karen leaning down so that he could whisper in her ear. "Help me."

"With what?" Karen whispered back.

"Give Grandma her flowers," he said.

"Oh, OK," Karen kissed him on the cheek, putting her hand on his back and guiding him across the lawn to where Pam was kneeling, focused on her work.

"Grandma?" he said, his voice quiet, his eyes trained on her white sunhat.

She pushed the brim of her hat up on her forehead, squinting to look at him through the pleasant, 11am sunlight. "Yes?"

Slowly, he held the flowers out to her, watching her cautiously as he did. "I brought flowers for your garden."

Pam looked at the flowers, and then up at Duke, a smile growing on her face as she did. "For me?"

"Mhm," he nodded.

She sat forward on her knees to examine them closer. "Did you pick these out yourself?"

"Yes," he said, seeming to hold his breath.

"Marigolds," Pam reached out a hand and gently stroked the dainty petals. "Let's see…how old are you?"

Duke gingerly let go of the container with one hand to raise four fingers.

"Four," she smiled. "Well, when your Daddy was your age, I used to let him help me in the garden."

Duke nodded in acknowledgment. "Daddy's good at flowers."

Pam chuckled, stripping off her gloves. "What about you? Would you like to give it a try?"

Duke's eyes grew wide at the thought. "Plant my flowers?"

"Mhm," Pam confirmed. "If you brought your best listening ears and your gentlest hands."

"I did!"

"Wonderful," Pam smiled. "How about you say goodbye to your Mom and we get started."

/

Jo sighed. "What's this one for, again?"

"Orphans," Damian answered as the tailor went to retrieve the jacket he'd fitted. "And it's important to both our brand and my father, so wear the green, not the red."

"Not the—," Jo was offended. "OK, first off—it's salmon. But what's the matter with it? You bought it for me!"

"Besides the fact that you always get cold and we have yet to find a jacket that works with it?" Damian raised an eyebrow in the mirror as he began the practiced process of tying his bow tie. "If the gala was being held indoors it wouldn't be a problem."

Jo narrowed her gaze. "You just don't like having to give me your jackets."

"Not particularly, no." He admitted, frowning at the bow. "Does this look straight to you?" he asked, turning to give her a better view.

"Yeah, it's fine. Why are you being so weird?" Jo asked, more annoyed than suspicious. "Since when do you care what I wear? My job is to look hot and sophisticated, and that's what I do. Consistently. And I don't even buy my own shit, really. That shopper you hired does. So…"

"I just want you to be in a dress that you're happy with," he said quickly, clearly wanting to be done with the conversation.

"Well I'm happy with the salmon."

"Fine! Wear the salmon." He angrily threaded his cuff-links. "I just don't want you to regret it."

"Reg—OK, American Psycho. You need to take a chill pill," Jo glared, crossing her arms. "Thanks for your concern, anyway."

"Whatever," he mumbled, taking his jacket from the tailor when he returned and sliding it on. After studying himself in the mirror a moment he asked: "What do you think?"

"Of the tux?" Jo wondered. "It's nice. You did a good job," she smiled at the tailor.

"Good," Damian nodded…maybe a few too many times. "I'm glad you like it, as it's what I'll be wearing when I propose to you tonight."

"Oh, got'cha. Cool, cool, cool." Jo pointed two finger guns at him and casually got up, heading for the shelf of bottled water. "Excuse me," she got the tailor's attention, grabbing one of the bottles. "Are these free?"

"$5.00," he informed her.

"5? This better taste like Zeus' hand-milked tears." She unscrewed the cap, taking a drink…and then immediately sprayed out her entire mouthful. "WHEN YOU WHAT?!"

"Propose to you," Damian casually repeated, stepping down off the platform. "I'll pay for the carpet if you notice any water damage," he told the tailor.

"Wait, Damian—wait," Jo felt more confused than anything. "You…want to marry me?"

"Well…yes," Damian answered like he wasn't sure why it was a question. "It's been almost 5 years now, Jo. You weren't—I'm sorry, I thought you were expecting this."

"Uh—no, I—no," Jo shook her head. "Do—do 23-year-olds even get married?"

Damian shrugged. "Anthony was 24 when he had Duke, right? I'm not asking for that, I'm just…umm…will you marry me?"

"I mean…yes, sure." Jo told him, still attempting to process what was happening. "But why?"

"Well, I have a speech for tonight—and a ring," he informed her. "But cliffnotes: you're my best friend, you're the only person on the planet that I actually, truly care about, you make me feel like I'm not alone, my Father and Selina spent too long running in circles around each other, and I think we do enough of that already without actually drifting in and out of each other's lives. Also, I love you, and when I think about the future, in my head you're always there with me."

"Those are…all good reasons," Jo said, clearing her throat in hopes of warding off the tears she felt building behind her eyes. "OK. Yes, I'll marry you."

Damian grinned, and it was real and genuine. It was maybe the first time she'd actually seen him express true happiness in the 23 years she'd known him, and it was in reaction to him learning she would be his wife. And that…made Jo happier than she could express with words.

"Yes," she said again, quickly closing the space between them and throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him into an overzealous kiss. "Fuck yes," she whispered.

She felt him smile against her lips. "That's the answer I was looking for."

/

"We don't have to have spaghetti if you don't have pasta," Karen assured them. "Really, we can troubleshoot."

"But…but I like spaghetti," Duke quietly protested from where he was already sitting at the table, seemingly ready to be fed. "I want to eat some right now."

"You heard the man," Harley nodded towards him. "Pam can go to the store, it's not a problem. We need a new skillet anyway."

Confused, Pam said: "they sell skillets at the grocery store?"

"They do at Target," Harley reasoned.

"Well…OK, fine, but Jo took my car today," Pam reminded her, sounding like she was making an excuse.

"Where's hers?" Harley asked.

Pam got up, grabbing her purse, having apparently decided she wasn't getting out of this. "In the shop because she's a horrible driver. Do you want to go? We could take the van…"

"No," Harley said quickly. "No, it doesn't need to be a big to-do, just…how about you and Karen go? Take her car. I'll just wait for Anthony."

"Uh—yeah, sure," Karen agreed. "Duke? You wanna come with me or stay with Nana?"

Guiltily, the boy weighed his options, before ultimately turning to Harley and saying: "Nana, will it hurt your feelings if I go with Mommy?"

"Nope," Harley smiled kindly. "Moms are great, I get it. If you see anything cool at the store, tell Grandma she has to buy it on my orders."

Pam rolled her eyes, opening the door for them, Harley offering a double-thumbs up before she closed it behind them and headed for the car. "I suppose you should drive."

"I suppose," Karen agreed, buckling Duke into his booster seat and coming around the front to sit in the driver's.

Pam climbed gingerly into the passenger seat like it was some alien planet, going to adjust her hair immediately after buckling herself in, and only then letting herself relax.

"You good?" Karen prompted.

"You a good driver?"

"Mommy's the best driver," Duke assured her from the back seat, patting Pam on the shoulder. "You're safe. She's a superhero."

"Thanks, Baby," Karen chuckled, pulling away and starting on what she knew was a brief journey. "So…I take it you're usually the one behind the wheel." She said after a few blocks.

"Yes," Pam acknowledged, her gaze aimed straight ahead.

"Did you teach Anthony how to drive?" Karen wondered. While she was, at this point, more or less accustomed to having Pamela Isley as a mother-in-law, she was still curious about a lot of things. It was still bizarre to think that the permanently-disgruntled plant hybrid that roamed the halls of The Watchtower was the same woman who raised the impressively well-adjusted father of her child.

"No," Ivy was saying. "No, that was Dick Grayson. His Godfather. We saw it as an opportunity to promote some male bonding."

"Did he ever have a rebellious teenager phase?" Karen wanted to know.

"Anthony? Goodness, no," Pam laughed. "We hit a little bump when he was around 12, I think. That was when we finally explained to him what he was and what I was, and he was hurt for a moment. But then my mutation set in and things just…fell back into place. But even without that, I'm confident we would have been fine. Harley always knew how to talk to him. To both of them, really."

"He didn't talk to you?"

"Oh, no, he did, it's just…I'm an easy target for anger," Pam told her. "I think—for the most part—well-loved children don't truly want to hurt their parents, even when they're angry. But they want you to think that they do. To think that they're capable of that." Her gaze turned out the window. "But if you listen to them and try to understand their concerns as they see them, they pull their punches. And Anthony never had much fight in him to begin with, really, so the few times he did attempt to test out his anger, it was on me because…well because I'm Poison Ivy, frankly, and being an immortal meta-human meant they didn't have to pull their punches quite as quickly." She drummed her fingers on her thigh. "Does that answer your question?"

Karen nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah…" and for a moment there it was like she was just getting some parenting advice from her mother-in-law…not from Poison Ivy, which was…nice.

She pulled into a parking spot and Pam got out, slinging her purse over her shoulder and helping Duke out of the backseat.

Duke grabbed onto her hand, doing a big stomp to get his shoes going before he reached for Karen's hand as well. "For extra safety," he said.

Karen smiled, both at her son's thoughtfulness and at the fact that Poison Ivy seemed to have no objection to the request.

Together, they walked across the parking lot and into the store.

"OK," Karen glanced around. "So…I think the groceries and the kitchenware are in the same general area, right?"

"I haven't the slightest clue," Pam admitted, looking a bit overwhelmed. "I don't—I don't frequent these sorts of establishments."

 _Oh, right. Industrialism bad_. "We'll figure it out," Karen tried to sound as cheery as possible. "What do you say, Duke?" she asked. "You want to go on an adventure?"

"Yeah," he grinned, letting go of Karen's hand to pat Pam's. "It's OK, Grandma. I'm a good explorer."

"Well…lead the way, then." Pam forced a smile and they were off. Just…two superheroes and a four-year-old wandering around a Target at 8pm.

"So what are the two things we need?" Karen prompted.

"Pasta." Duke said matter-of-factly, stopping to try to see to the end of an aisle before determining they weren't buying what it was selling. "Pasta and pans. One more cuz we already got one," he smiled up at his Grandmother.

"No, Sweetheart, my name is 'Pam'. 'Pam', not 'pan'." She informed him.

"Oh," Duke looked disappointed (and maybe a little embarrassed) as Karen stopped them.

"Pasta." She dropped Duke's hand to grab a box of angel hair.

"And kitchenware," the redhead pointed in the opposite direction, and Karen turned to see there was, in fact, an aisle across from them filled with kitchenware.

Pam lifted Duke up onto her hip, as he was still wearing that downtrodden expression. While he was a pretty decent size for a four-year-old, he still wasn't too big to be carried, and Karen liked how he instantly rested his head against Pam's shoulder and wrapped his arms around her neck. He held onto Anthony the same way.

"We have to buy nonstick because Nana always forgets to add oil," Pam was saying. "Karen, would you…?" she nodded towards the wall of pans.

"Oh, yeah, sure." She stepped forward. "Which one?"

"The 10 inch is fine, thank you," Pam told her. "Now let's get out of here."

 _Superheroes, they're just like you!_ Karen chuckled to herself as they headed for the checkout. Luckily the store wasn't all that busy, so there was an open cashier waiting.

Pam set Duke down and Karen placed their two items on the belt, smiling politely back at the grinning cashier.

"What a handsome young man," the woman complimented as she rung up the items, looking at Pam as she was the one in front (and the one who'd been carrying him).

Pulling her debit card out of her wallet, Pam evidently noticed the woman's misplaced attention and corrected it with: "He's lucky to have such a beautiful Mother," she smiled quickly at Karen and swiped her card.

"That's so sweet," the cashier was still smiling broadly. "My partner and I are looking into adoption."

"How wonderful," Pam told her, sounding genuine, but also distracted as she keyed in her pin.

"Did you use a surrogate?"

Karen shook her head, although she found the question a little invasive. "No, I carried him myself."

"That's nice," the cashier processed the transaction. "We were looking into that but it's just all so expensive, you know?"

A puzzled expression creeped into Pam's features as she checked back into the conversation. "Yes…"

"How'd you decide who would be the—," the cashier changed her volume to a whisper and covered her mouth so Duke couldn't see when she said: "biological mother"."

Karen froze _Oh, no. No no no. No no. No no. No,_ while Pam turned the color of the store's logo, and from her expression, Karen was pretty sure her internal monologue didn't sound much different.

"H—her womb, her baby. That was o—our decision," was Pam's forced response. "I need to take a shower now. I need to take many showers. Excuse me."

/

Harley and Anthony were in the kitchen when they heard the front door open.

"Took ya long enough!" Harley complained.

Duke ran through the door and into Anthony's arms and Pam and Karen stumbled numbly behind him, looking like they'd seen a ghost.

"How was your day in the garden?" Anthony asked his son. "I heard Grandma helped you plant some flowers."

"Yeah!" Duke began his account of the day, but Harley tuned him out, all of her attention focused on the two women standing an awkward 5 feet apart and starring down at their shoes.

"Mother-daughter bonding time went well?" Harley inquired. "Or…no?"

Both their faces contorted into something nearly surpassing disgust, and now Anthony had taken notice as well, pausing his conversation with Duke to ask: "Did you park in Ma's spot, Bee?"

"Please don't," Pam gritted.

"I totally would have let you borrow my pass for the night," Harley said. "Really it's all access. And all my gadgets are electric, so I really don't see the harm in—"

"Stop!" Pam suddenly shouted, startling Harley and Anthony. "Please, you have to—stop. I'm sure you mean did we park in a handicap spot, and that you would have let us borrow your sticker, and that your electric wheelchair makes it not too much of a bother to wheel across the parking lot—but we need some time and space to deal with our nausea, please."

"Uhh…OK…"

"The cashier thought your Mom and I were Duke's parents!" Karen blurted at the exact moment the door leading from the kitchen to the backyard slammed open and Jolene waltzed inside.

"I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it," she whimsically spun around, ripping her beanie cap off of her head (the one that looked very out of place given the fact that she was wearing an evening gown) and tossing it at Harley, hitting her in the face with it.

The kitchen was silent then, aside from Jo's excited breathing and Harley spitting the hat's stray fibers out of her mouth.

…until Pam shook herself out of her stupor and asked, in a surprisingly casual tone: "With whom?"

"W—with Damian," Jo looked an odd mix of happy and confused now as she calmed down, although her wide smile remained prominent. "We're getting married!" she held out her left hand to show off the diamond ring on her finger.

"I think we should drink," Harley proposed.


	58. Chapter 58

**Author's note: You'll find this chapter to be a bit more upbeat than usual...I promise I'll get back to thoughtful content in the next one.**

"Isn't that a little cliché?" Bart asked. "And like…incestuous, maybe?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "We're not actually related, Dumbass. And what's it to ya, anyway?"

Bart shrugged. "Well…Nightwing married Batgirl, right? Now Batman's marrying Batgirl too?"

"Hellbat," Jo corrected. "And my parents already make enough ' ' jokes, alright? When I told you guys I was getting married, it was intended as a 'hey, you're my friends. Come to my wedding' rather than a 'I wonder what Bart Allen thinks about my relationship'. But thanks anyway."

"Well I'm happy for you," Suzanne assured her, patting her hand where it lay on the table. "And if Bart wants to be my date he's gonna knock it off and be happy for you too."

"I just think he's a little overrated, OK?" Bart responded like they were persecuting him. "It's always Batman this and Batman that—the dude doesn't even have any superpowers!"

"What does that matter?" Jo crossed her arms. "He'd still kick your ass."

"Pfft," Bart scoffed. "I'm the fastest man alive."

"Mmm…" Zachary narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure about that."

"I'd put my money on Wally or Iris, no offense," Jo said. "Or, actually—offense."

Bart looked disgruntled for a moment before coming back with: "Yeah, so what?"

"So… _I'd_ beat you in a fight, Bro," Jo laughed. "Never mind Batman."

"Wh—what?" Bart was so offended he stood up from the couch he and Jo had been sharing. "There's no way!"

Jo grinned, sitting up. "How about we make a bet?"

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" Suzanne chanted.

Bart narrowed his eyes. "What are your terms?"

"If I win, you have to go up to Damian and ask him to autograph your suit in permanent marker," Jo proposed. "Right on the ass."

Zachary laughed. "I like this already."

"Fine," Bart agreed, after a moment's contemplation. "But if I win, you've gotta whisper in his ear that Batman is overrated while he's…uh…you know…"

"Inside of me?" Jo laughed. "First off: you're a pervert. But secondly: that's hilarious and yes, absolutely. Let's do it. Suit on or off?"

Bart raised an eyebrow. "You seriously think you can beat me without your suit?"

Jo smiled, already beginning the process of removing her suit. "I'm pretty confident, yeah." While pulling the arm off, though, her hand slipped and she pressed a button that sent a clear mist into the air. "Oh, shit, sorry! It's not poisonous, it's just my sweat, I promise."

"Gross," Bart complained. "Your suit collects your sweat?"

"Does it look terribly breathable to you?" Jo wondered, chuckling as she finished the removal process, leaving her in a pair of spandex and a tank top. "You ready?" She asked.

"Yeah, I'm—umm…ha," he said, bashfully, his cheeks flushing as she crooked a finger at him, beckoning him forward. "I'm not—uh—," he attempted to clear his throat. "I'm not gonna take it easy on you."

"OK," Jo fluttered her eyelashes. "Show me what'cha got, Speedy."

"I'm…I'm pretty fast," he assured her as she circled him, a dopey grin growing on his face. "Better watch out."

"Well that's all well and good," Jo chuckled, trailing her finger languidly down his arm as she saddled up behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist. She felt his breath hitch when she trailed her hand down lower…

…until she wrapped that arm around his leg and upended him, spinning him head-over-heels and slamming him to the ground. She climbed quickly over him then, pinning his arms over his head. "Would you like to kiss me or kill me right now?"

"Kisses, please," he said, giggling.

"Mhm," Jo grinned. "Those are called pheromones, Bart. Little trick I picked up from my Mom. Unfortunately, the ones that I excrete are far less potent then hers, but my brother designed a system within my suit that collects my sweat and concentrates it."

"That's cool," he said, before leaning up and attempting to kiss her.

Jo stopped him with a hand on his forehead, pushing it back to the ground. "That signature's gonna look so sexy," she chuckled before getting up. "Sorry, Suzanne, didn't mean to encroach on your, uh…turf."

Suzanne and Zachary were both laughing. "You can have him."

"I think I'm good," Jo winked.

"Wait, hey!" Bart sat up, his head having cleared slightly now that Jo was giving him space. "You cheated!"

Jo put her hands on her hips. "Were you not just about to use your speed to beat me? Or was this supposed to be hand-to-hand? Because that would have ended even worse for you than this did."

Bart pulled himself up to his feet. "But Damian doesn't have any superpowers! That's the point we were trying to make."

"You're right," Jo admitted. "But he does have about 14 other gadgets that would leave you in a very similar state. You're sword, he's pen, and I'm boob. And everyone knows boob beats pen beats sword. Right, Suzanne?"

"Right," the archer agreed.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Jo began, packing up her costume. "I'm in a fantastic mood, and have been for far too long, so I'm going to go see my Mother now to remedy that perversion of my nature."

/

"Mmm…I don't know," Harley said, narrowing her eyes. "I just don't know. Might it be too…let me see…" she dug her fork in for another bite of cake, chewing thoughtfully. "I just don't know—,"

Selina snatched the fork away as the blonde started her journey towards another bite. "You know what it tastes like! Save some for Jo!"

"No, see…this is white cake. Jo hates white cake," Harley informed her, snatching the fork back. "She likes chocolate, that's why I can eat this slice."

Now it was Selina whose eyes were narrowed. "I don't think you're old enough to make that cute yet."

"Bullshit," Harley slammed her fist at the table. "I've been adorable at every age. Just ask Pam."

Selina rapped her knuckles on the table, nonchalantly taking a bite of her own from the half-eaten slice of cake. "Do you and Pam still…are you guys still—uh— _making an effort_?" she tried to pose the question casually. "

"I mean…" Harley squinted with one eye. "Yeah…I guess. She definitely does, which is cute, but uh…I don't know. Sometimes it doesn't feel worth it. She's gotta work her ass off, I've gotta be totally focused and 100% into it…we're done with casual sex, that's for sure."

Selina sighed. "It's so fucking weird getting old."

"Mm," Harley set her fork down. "I take it things are cooling down?"

Selina snorted. "I'm 70 years old, Harley. Can you fucking believe that? Seriously. And Bruce is 75, so…it just is what it is. And the idea of becoming those horny geezers in a nursing home orgy someday is absolutely terrifying, so…yes, we're cooling down. We've cooled down."

Harley laughed. "A what?! That can't be a real thing."

"It's totally a real thing," Selina affirmed. "Eddie told me about it yesterday and I didn't sleep a wink last night."

Harley laughed again. "Why were you talking to Riddler?"

"He's got something I want to take off his hands after he croaks," Selina informed, sitting back in her chair. "And Bruce is paying the rent at his retirement community, so we catch up on occasion."

"That's…oddly endearing," Harley decided. "Well, anyway, you're hands down the hottest 70-year-old I've ever seen."

"Isn't Pam like 106?" Selina asked. "You've seen her, haven't you?"

"Yes, but she's cheating."

"So am I," Selina pointed out.

"Yes, but she's cheating more than you."

Selina nodded. "Alright, I'll accept that. So Jo's picky as fuck, so no white cake. But Damian's not a huge chocolate fan, so obviously, we've hit a snag."

"Ooh, me! Me!" Harley excitedly raised her hand.

Selina rolled her eyes. "Yeah?"

"What if they just didn't get married?"

"Will you knock that shit off?" Selina not-so-kindly requested. "Your kid likes a boy who likes her back. We should all be encouraging them—seriously. They make each other bearable. I caught Damian humming the other day! Humming 'Jolene' by Dolly-friggin-Parton, you monster! Support that, goddam it! You have no idea what a nightmare he was growing up."

"Christ, calm down!" Harley demanded. "Holy crap…" she allowed Selina to take a deep breath before continuing. "Obviously they're going through with it. We figured out a while ago that when Jo decides something we can't exactly reason with her. Damian seems like the only person she listens to, for some reason, so more power to em. But he's Talia's son, so I'm gonna keep making jokes."

"He's not Talia's son," Selina mumbled as a car pulled into the driveway.

/

"Pamela," Damian greeted cordially. "You don't drink coffee."

"Yes," Ivy acknowledged. "Which is why this is tea."

"Mm," Damian grunted, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Ivy stared at him a second before she couldn't take it anymore. "Why are you still wearing that fucking cowl? We're inside!"

"I…like it," he quietly took a sip.

"Do you ever take it off?" Ivy gritted, not totally sure why this particular issue annoyed her so severely.

"Only when I shower," he told her.

"Please don't tell me you make my daughter call you 'Batman' in the fucking bedroom."

Damian swallowed back a mouthful of coffee. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Ivy lowered her voice slightly for their next exchange, as Donna Troy had wandered within earshot and she had zero interest in involving an Amazonian in their conversation (as it would likely get back to Diana and Ivy couldn't stomach the thought of Wonder Woman being involved in her family drama). "When you allow her to answer the phone while you two are engaging in—whatever you two engage in, it becomes my business."

"That was four-fucking-years ago," Damian hissed back. "Get over it, Pamela."

"Stop referring to me as if I'm your peer," Ivy snapped, less careful with her volume this time. "And only when you have a child will you understand the trauma of…oh God," she nearly gagged. "What a horrifying thought."

"Yeah, no, continue to think about that," Damian told her. "Think about it all night long. And remind me why you hate me, again? Because still being pissed I pushed Anthony off the slide that one time seems a little insane seeing as we're all adults now."

"Well conversations like this certainly aren't helping your cause," she assured him.

"You're the one that made this weird!" he slipped back into a volume that Donna _definitely_ took notice of. "I just pointed out it was weird you were drinking coffee! That's it! You're the one that brought up me and your daughter's bedroom habits."

Donna was giving them a strange look from where she was placing an entire rotisserie chicken on a plate.

"Hi there," Ivy smiled to placate her. "You must be hungry."

"…I am," Donna said like it was the dumbest observation she'd ever heard. "I'm eating this chicken."

"No, I know, I was just…" Ivy started to explain herself before she decided it wasn't worth it. "Sorry—enjoy."

"I will," Donna said, still looking at Ivy like she had three eyes as she exited the kitchen, chicken in hand.

Ivy and Damian waited in silence for a moment as Donna left before Damian said: "Honestly, Pamela, what's the matter with you? Leave the woman to devour that entire chicken in peace."

Pam had to cover her mouth to starve off a laugh, but her eyes had obviously betrayed her amusement because Damian smirked into his coffee mug.

"Anyway," Ivy attempted to pull them back on track. "I have zero recollection of what our argument was about. But you know what you did, I'm sure."

"Something having to do with Jo."

"That's right!" she pointed an accusatory finger at him as she simultaneously dumped her tea into the sink with her other hand. "Now I have to go. Goodbye, you emotionally repressed nightmare of a human male."

"Well, takes one to know one," Damian sneered. "Except for the male part…and the human…just—nevermind. Goodbye."

/

"Hey," Jo greeted, smiling and leaning against her car as Damian climbed out of his. "You're cute. What's your deal?"

"I'm engaged," he said plainly, shutting his door.

"Well I'll make you forget all about him," she guaranteed him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him toward her.

He only let the kiss go on for a moment before he separated to ask: "he?"

"You're almost too pretty to be straight, Babe," she ran a hand through his hair affectionately. "I'm just playing the odds here."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just ask my brother," Jo told him. "He knows the struggle." Then she shrugged as he dropped his hands from where they were pinning her hips against the car. "I'm just sayin'—if we ever need to supplement our income, you could make a _killing_."

"9.2 billion dollars," Damian reminded her. "That's how much my Father's worth. And that's not even counting Selina or your parents."

Jo shrugged again. "Better you than me."

"You're such a fucking idiot," he grumbled before leaning down to kiss her again.

"Oh, hey!" Jo was the one to interrupt them this time. "You'll be happy to know I defended your honor today."

"If it was to a casting director I sincerely hope you told them I was a top," Damian warned.

Jo snorted. "Well look who's coming around to that joke…"

"Hey!" Pam slammed her car door as she'd just pulled up behind them. "You're going to scare the neighbors," she scolded. "Get inside or I'm getting the hose."

/

Harley sighed as she watched Jo and Damian through the blinds. "Remember when we were young and used to make out with people up against our cars?"

"Bruce and I used to fuck on rooftops," Selina mourned. "Now we just look at each other and go 'so, are you tired?' 'I don't know, are you tired?' until one of us falls asleep."

Pam had pulled into the driveway now as well. "At least you can walk," Harley pointed out. "And at least Bruce is getting old too. Do you have any idea how inadequate I fucking feel? Look at her, Cat! Seriously look at her."

Selina did, watching Pam follow Jo and Damian up the driveway, and… _yeah_. "Well maybe if she dressed less…unrealistically-sexy political campaign manager in an HBO miniseries all the time, that might let you off the hook a little."

"That wouldn't help," Harley grumbled, getting out her phone and scrolling through her camera roll until she found a picture of Pam from the back wearing a pair of Harley's old sweatpants and a plain grey tank top while she did the dishes, her hair up in a loose ponytail.

"Mm," Selina nodded gravely. "Yeah, I'd hire her to _paint my house_."

Harley was still starring at the picture. "Is that a euphemism?"

"A gay one, right?" Selina sounded unsure.

Harley frowned. "I mean…it sounds pretty gay…"

The front door opened then, and Jo burst through first. "Hi! What are you looking at?" she asked as Harley scrambled to lock her phone.

"Nothing," Harley assured her…at the same time as Selina was saying: "Your Mother's ass."

"Ah," Jo nodded like that was totally normal. "It's a good one."

Pam came in behind her. "If you wanted a closer look, Selina, you should have taken what I offered in 1995."

"Well isn't that some fun family history," Damian intoned, closing the door behind him as he was the last one.

"Hush," Selina scolded, although it wasn't clear if she was talking to Damian or Pam. "There are cake samples in the kitchen, Harley informed me—,"

"—I want chocolate," Jo cut her off.

"And I want red velvet," Damian dissented.

Jo rolled her eyes. "Red velvet is just chocolate with food coloring, Dunce Cap."

"Then that's what I want," Damian decided.

"Cool," Jo agreed. "Red velvet it is."

"That's…that's it?" Selina asked after a moment of silence. "Guys, Harley and I went to four different bakeries today."

"Cool," Jo repeated. "Did you get any red velvet?"

"Well…I mean, yeah," Harley said.

"Perfect," Jo smiled happily. "We'll have that. As far as music goes, if Anthony's up for it I'd love him to be there playing the piano—he can choose the first dance song himself, we don't really care as long as it's not Jason Mraz cuz, frankly, that guy can shove his fedora up his Jason Mrass—otherwise the wedding is mostly for the public anyway, right? So we trust your judgment completely. Go crazy, do whatever you want. Carrie will be my maid of honor and Dick will be Damian's best man. Ma, you've gotta find a way to walk me down the aisle because Mom is technically dead, and…oh! We're still on for dress shopping on Thursday, right?"

"Uh—yeah," Selina was at a loss for words other than that.

"Fantastic!" Jo's grin broadened. "Thank you guys so much, really. We're excited," she took Damian's hand. "Anything you wanted to add?"

Damian thought for a moment before saying: "I think you covered it."

"Well, we'd love to stay longer, as we love all of you," Jo told them, backing up towards the front door. "But because we both have two superhero jobs on top of a civilian job each, we have about four hours during the day where we get to decide whether to sleep or have sex. Of course, we _should_ choose to sleep, but the other option is just more fun, so we're gonna go do that now."

"Have a good evening," Damian nodded before Jo yanked him out the door.

The three women in the foyer flinched when she door slammed shut, leaving them alone and in silence.

"Hm," Pam said aloud.

"Hm," Selina agreed.

"I…think our children might be adults," Harley realized.

 **Author's note:** **Suzanne is Suzanne King-Jones, aka Arowette, and Zachary is Zachary Zatara aka Zatara.**

 **Realized they might be a bit obscure, so there ya go :)**


	59. Chapter 59

_Brown or blonde? Brown…or blonde…or black?_

Pam stared at Selina's wig collection. Had been standing, staring, for a while now. She was aware of that. She was also aware they had to go, but she just…couldn't choose. Couldn't make up her mind. She liked her red hair. She didn't want to wear a wig. Not today, anyway.

"Pam?" Barbara called from the doorway. "We have to go."

"I know," she acknowledged, not removing her focus from the hair options in front of her.

Barbara cleared her throat, taking a step inside. "You look nice."

Pam glanced down at her suit. "I wanted to wear a dress," she mumbled.

"Why didn't you?" Barbara asked, now standing beside her, her arms crossed, examining the wigs as well.

"I don't know," Pam told her, reaching forward to pick up the blonde option. "Thought this would be a better disguise, I suppose. Harley does pants better."

Barbara cracked a smile. "I think you do everything pretty well."

"I know," Pam exhaled, setting the wig back down. "What do you think?"

"Mmm…" Barbara narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, looking at each wig and then glancing over at Pam. "Brown," she decided, finally. "The darker one. Blonde makes you look too much like Jo—you'll get 'how are you related?' questions, black just isn't your color, and the caramel is what you wore when you worked for Bruce, so obviously that's not going to work."

Pam nodded at Barbara's reasoning, but made no move to grab it from the shelf. "You're right."

The Commissioner nodded. "Can I help you put it on?"

"No."

"OK, well…Harl and Selina are already there, so…it's just you and me," Barbara patted her on the back. "I'll go start the car, alright?"

"Yes, fine," Pam agreed.

Barbara gave her one last smile—one that communicated a noticeable degree of pity—and headed for the doorway.

"I don't want her to get married," Pam stopped her.

"What?"

Pam turned to face her. "I don't—I don't want Jo to get married."

"Pamela," Barbara sighed, "Damian may be difficult, but—,"

"—no, it's not that," Pam cut her off. "It's just…it's all moving too fast. All speeding towards an inevitable conclusion that—I knew…I knew this would happen."

Barbara smiled once more, leaning against the doorframe. "You knew your kids would grow up to be with people they love? How wonderful."

"You wouldn't understand," Pam mumbled. "It feels like—like yesterday it was my wedding, and I was taking your cake away and telling you to wait until you were ready to be with Dick. Do you remember?"

"I do," Barbara chuckled. "And you're not alone, Pam. You're not the only one that feels like things are moving fast. You're just the only one that stands still to watch it all pass by."

"Then must you all continue to sprint?" Pam laughed—but it was sad, and she had to swallow back her emotions before continuing. "52…"

"Yeah, don't remind me," Barbara laughed in a very similar fashion. "I'm over the hill now."

Pam shook her head, "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to adequately thank you."

"For what?" Barbara smiled.

"For being the child I could never mess up, as you were never mine to begin with," Pam told her.

Barbara drummed her fingers on her thigh for a moment before making her decision and closing the space between them, pulling Pam into a tight hug. "It was easy. I didn't have you to live up to."

/

"When's this thing supposed to start, again?" Jo complained, spinning around in her chair.

Harley raised an eyebrow. "By 'this thing', do you mean your wedding?"

"Figured that was implied…"

Harley sighed, wishing that Jo was taking this more seriously. Marriage was…big. Marriage was marriage, and thinking of Jo married was just so…surreal. Or strange, maybe. Maybe just strange.

It had always been easier for her to imagine Anthony growing up, becoming a man, going to college, buying a house, even getting married and having children. In some ways, he'd always been a grownup, with his Windsor knots and logical reasoning.

But Jo was…Jo was different. Harley had been 42 when they had her, and yet, in comparison to where she was now, she felt like she'd been so young. And they'd done so much leaning on the job with her…see, she and Pam had sort of assumed that the experience they'd accumulated with Anthony would make raising their second kid easy, and the fact that she was a girl and they'd be able to relate to her better would do the rest.

Boy were they wrong.

Jolene was such a different kid. A challenging kid. Anthony was born with the weight of the world on his shoulders and Jo…well Jo accumulated it along the way. Stopping every few feet to pick up a new piece and place it on her back. And she hadn't even gone that far yet, really. 23 was…God, 23 was only two after Harley had won her National title, 23 was three years before she'd even meet Pam, and another two before she'd marry her. 23 was…something Jo was better at, maybe, as there's no way Harley would have been ready to start a life with someone back then. Those five years had been paramount to her development.

"What did it feel like?" Jo asked, pulling Harley from her thoughts. "When you were waiting before you married Mom. Was it, like, exciting? The idea of it?"

"Oh, geez, I was a mess," Harley laughed. "Selina had to go get Pam to convince me to put my dress on."

Jo smiled, sitting forward. "You know they're not supposed to see you in your dress beforehand, right?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I told her. And do you know what she said?" Harley asked.

"What a ridiculous superstition," Jo guessed at the same time as Harley was giving her that exact answer.

"How'd you know?!" Harley laughed.

"I dreamed about it last night," Jo smiled. "You weren't kidding; you really were a mess."

Harley tried to hide her annoyance by glancing at her watch. _10 minutes_. "Why'd you ask if you already knew the answer?"

Jo shrugged, popping a Jordan Almond into her mouth. "Wanted to see if you'd lie, I guess."

"Why would I do that?"

Jo sighed, spinning her chair to look at her reflection in the mirror again. "I find people tend to romanticize life's big moments. I was curious how you remembered it."

"Well…" Harley pursed her lips. "I remember feeling…scared. Scared and ugly and like—like the world was playing a trick on me. Like maybe Pam, Selina and Bruce were all in on this elaborate prank because…when I saw her in that dress it was just, 'in what world is she here to marry _me_?'."

"Hm," Jo said, taking in what Harley was saying with a thoughtful expression.

"And what about you?" Harley looked at her daughter's face in the mirror. "What are you feeling?"

Jo pushed a strand of stray hair back into place within her bun. "I'm not sure," she admitted, "maybe like…we deserve each other, but I don't deserve how happy he makes me."

Furrowing her brow, Harley asked: "why not?"

"Because sometimes I feel kinda stupid, caring about somebody like that," she confessed. "Especially that somebody. I mean…it's Damian, ya know?"

Harley couldn't help but smile. "Your person is your person, Jo. I definitely didn't expect mine to be my patient, nor did Selina expect hers to the guy messing with her jewel heists. Actually, out of all of us, your love story probably makes the most sense."

"That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said about us," Jo murmured, keenly examining her nails.

 _Oh…_

They both turned their attention to the door as it opened and Pam stepped inside, carrying a small box in her hands.

"Pam, we had a plan," Harley sighed. "You're not supposed to be back here."

"Yes, I know," she said, sounding regretful. "But I…" she opened the box and pulled out a white rose, "grew this, and I wasn't sure what you were doing with your hair, but I thought you might like to wear it."

Jo watched her silently for a moment, looking her up and down more than once. "You look like Talia."

"…what a terrible thing to say," Pam sounded demoralized.

Jo bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Did anyone see you come in?"

"No, I came in through the back," Pam told her. "Really, I just wanted to deliver this to you and…" she trailed off as Jo rose from her chair and crossed over to her.

Without saying a word, Jo took chestnut brown wig in her hand and pulled it off, followed by the wig cap, clearly being careful to avoid pulling Pam's actual hair which lay underneath. Once she could see red, she quickly ran a hand through it, mussing it to add volume where the tight wig cap had flattened it.

"That took me 20 minutes to put in place," Pam said quietly.

"After I say my vows and kiss my husband, I want to look out into the audience and see my Mom there," she tapped her index finger on Pam's chest above the neckline of her shirt. "And by my Mom…I mean Poison Ivy."

"Jo, Honey," Harley began to protest.

"Oh, come on, Ma. You two are such good friends, right? It's not weird Dr. Quinzel would invite Ivy to her daughter's wedding," Jo appealed before turning her attention back to Pam, looking at her with palpable sincerity. "I don't want you to have to hide."

/

 _We invited way too many fucking people_ , was all Damian could think as he waited for the ceremony to start.

Half these people he didn't even know personally. He recognized the mayor, though, who was likely only there because they'd donated heavily to her campaign in the last election. He spotted the Titans in the crowd as well, dressed in their civilian clothes, but not many of his colleagues from the Justice League, Jo was better at making friends…but Carrie and Cass and Tim and Dick were there, and he'd spotted Supergirl too, and Poison Ivy, of course…

 _Wait._

 _Poison Ivy?_

She was wearing a well-tailored maroon pant suit over top a low cut black V-neck, which wasn't exactly a look he was accustomed to seeing her in, but his big problem was with her shamelessly green skin. Ivy sat four rows from the front on Damian's right, the people seated around her observing her with a mixture of fear and awe, by the looks of it. Ivy, herself, was staring straight ahead, though. Straight at Damian, so intently it was unnerving.

Lucky, he was saved when the music began up and Jo started down the aisle, biting her lip in hopes of containing her smile, which seemed to be a useless exercise as her happiness was blatantly obvious.

To his horror, Damian found he was smiling back at her and lifted his hand to obscure his mouth. But then he felt Dick's hand on his arm pulling it back down to his side.

"Let yourself be happy for a minute, Damian," Dick murmured behind him. "I promise it's not gonna kill ya."

So he forfeited for a moment, allowing an unimpeded smile—well, more of a smirk—as she finished her trip down the aisle.

"There are way too many people here," Jo whispered upon arrival.

"Yeah, no shit," Damian agreed at the same volume. "Speaking of which—Poison Ivy?"

"I wanted her to come, don't be a dick."

"We are gathered here today—,"

Damian bumped her lightly with his shoulder, and he just barely caught her smirk before turning his attention to the task at hand.

"—as long as you both shall live?"

"Definitely," Jo answered. "No! I mean—'I do', sorry," she laughed. "Gosh, I'm terrible at this. I should really only get married once."

An amused chuckle emanated from the audience and the Justice of the Peace smiled as he posed the same question to Damian, who answered with a much more straight forward "I do".

"Throughout this ceremony, Jolene and Damian have vowed, in our presence, to be loyal and loving towards each other…"

"Well, I don't know about that…" Jo mumbled.

"They have formalized the existence of the bond between them with words spoken and with the giving and receiving of rings…"

"Gross," Damian couldn't help himself.

"Therefore, it is my pleasure to pronounce them husband and wife. You may now—,"

Jo had already leapt into his arms at this point, kissing him fiercely.

"—kiss the groom, I suppose."

/

"Are you the real Poison Ivy?" the man sitting next to her finally got up the courage to ask.

"No, I just decided to cosplay for a wedding," Ivy mocked distractedly, watching Harley across the lawn, waiting for an opening that might never come as yet another person slid in beside her to start a likely meaningless conversation.

She knew whoever it was would leave in an instant if she approached, but drawing that much attention to their discourse just wasn't worth it. Besides that, what Pam really wanted was a hug or a kiss….and that obviously wasn't going to fly in these surroundings.

"Selina must have planned this," a female voice came behind her. "Only she could spend this much money in one place."

Ivy knew that voice, but she was still surprised when she turned around. "Leave," she told the man, who instantly sprung to his feet.

Talia al Ghul sat down in the seat he'd just evacuated, sizing Ivy up as she did and looking the same age as she had 40 years ago. "Pamela." She greeted coldly.

"Talia," she murmured with equal chill to her tone. "Funny, I didn't see you on the guest list."

Ignoring that, Talia nodded towards where Jo and Damian were talking to Anthony as he sat down at the piano. "She's very pretty." Ivy didn't say anything, just let her eyes wander to them as well, so Talia continued: "But I suppose that was expected. You always had a knack for growing pretty things. And perhaps I should be thankful Damian didn't inherit Bruce's disease."

"And what might that be?"

"Promiscuity," Talia answered, sitting back in her chair. "He only settled down with Selina because he ran out of steam, everyone knows that. Not like she had anything valuable to offer him."

"Well, she raised their son," Ivy pointed out as Damian and Jo stepped onto the dance floor. "Raised him to be a halfway decent human being. That's clearly something you couldn't offer him."

"Damian isn't their son, he's our son," Talia spat.

"Mmm…" Ivy smiled, "I'm not sure that's the way he sees it."

/

"In hindsight, maybe we should have chosen the song with him," Jo realized as Damian took her hand. "Aren't these things typically choreographed?"

"We've been to enough parties, Jolene, I think we can figure it out," Damian assured her.

And she smiled softly in response. "I like it when you call me that."

"Your name?" Damian raised an eyebrow.

"It reminds me of my parents," she told him as they waited for Anthony to begin playing. "They only use their full names when they're really trying to get the other one to listen and it's important that they hear. " _I love you, Harleen_ ," Jo did an earnest impression of Pam. "It's serious business."

"I see…" Damian smirked, putting his hand on her waist as Anthony leaned into the microphone.

"Good evening," he greeted the audience. "My name is Anthony Quinzel, I'm Jo's older brother, and…some of you may not know this, but growing up, Damian was my best friend…until I met Carrie, but close enough." Damian saluted him from the dance floor. "And I—I remember the first time I suspected Jo might _maybe_ have a crush on Damian," Anthony laughed. "Which is just so cliché, the little sister crushing on her big brother's friend, but, uh—he was biking on the street outside our house and I was timing him to see how fast he could make the loop—he was always the better athlete—and he was coming in hot, on track to beat his personal record, when a squirrel ran out in front of his bike," Damian's face reddened slightly. "So he swerved, and ultimately crashed, and I'll never forget how Jo shot up from her seat—she was probably 6 at the time—and she runs over to him, and Damian's holding back tears because he's a man's man, and so Jo kneels down to examine his knee—which is scraped up pretty bad—and says: 'I would kiss it to make it better but it's super icky and my Mom says that doesn't work anyway'." The crowd laughed then and Anthony grinned, "Which, if you knew my Mother, is definitely something she'd say. Anyway, Damian didn't know what to do, I'm guessing, he was 12, I think, so it was sort of a strange situation—because then Jo leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek instead and said: 'big boys can cry too, if they're sad'." Another laugh, from Jo too this time.

"That's not how it happened," Damian grumbled.

Jo laughed, "that's totally how it happened."

"She'd been listening to a lot of Fergie," Anthony added as an aside, cracking his knuckles and spreading his fingers out on the keys of the piano. "Jo and Damian, I love you both—but Jo considerably more—and I'm happy for you—you deserve each other. And, remember, if you hate this song, maybe you should have chosen something yourself."

Jo chuckled, mumbling: "asshole" as she turned her attention back to Damian.

Anthony began with a few measures on the piano, and to both Jo and Damian's relief it wasn't terribly difficult to keep time to, nor was it Jason Mraz.

 _"_ _I met you in the dark, you lit me up / You made me feel as though I was enough,"_

Jo had to fight to urge to just rest her head against his chest like they were at a super well-funded prom.

 _"_ _We danced the night away, we drank too much_ _/ I held your hair back when / You were throwing up,"_

"I have literally never thrown up in my life," Jo corrected as he spun her.

 _"_ _Then you smiled over your shoulder / For a minute, I was stone-cold sober,"_

Damian furrowed his brow. "That can't be true."

 _"_ _I pulled you closer to my chest_ _/ And you asked me to stay over,"_

"No, really," Jo reaffirmed. "I have almost no gag reflex. But you already knew t—,"

 _"_ _And you asked me to stay over_ _/ I said, I already told ya / I think that you should get some rest,"_

Damian sighed, shaking his head subtly as he spun her again, this time only half way, trapping her in his arms, her back to him.

 _"_ _I knew I loved you then_ _/ But you'd never know,"_

He kissed her ear, careful to avoid the white rose in her hair before releasing her to face him once again.

 _"_ _'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go_ _/ I know I needed you / But I never showed / But I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old,"_

"Any regrets?" Damian asked.

"Mm…," Jo mulled that over.

 _"_ _Just say you won't let go_ _/ Just say you won't let go,"_

"I didn't sleep with enough women," she decided.

 _"_ _I'll wake you up with some breakfast in bed_ _/ I'll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head,"_

"How many _did_ you sleep with?" he asked.

 _"_ _And I'll take the kids to school_ _/ Wave them goodbye,"_

"None," Jo sighed. "It's shameful."

 _"_ _And I'll thank my lucky stars for that night / When you looked over your shoulder / For a minute, I forget that I'm older / I wanna dance with you right now,"_

"What about you?" Jo wondered, giggling as he lifted her, which got a cheer from the audience. "Any regrets?"

 _"_ _Oh, and you look beautiful as ever / And I swear everyday you'll get better / You make me feel this way somehow,"_

"Yeah," Damian admitted. "Right now I'm regretting not sleeping with your brother."

Jo threw her head back to laugh.

 _"_ _I'm so in love with you / And I hope you know / Darling your love is more than worth its weight in gold,"_

"I mean—I'm not one to give compliments—or to sleep with men…"

 _"_ _We've come so far, my dear / Look how we've grown / And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old,"_

"But he's killin' it right now," Jo laughed. "It's alright, I get it. And you absolutely have my blessing."

"I appreciate that," Damian whispered, leaning down to kiss her.

/

Harley had been looking forward to sitting next to Pam all night. She'd seemed so lonely sitting by herself, most people too intimidated to approach her. And anyway, Harley knew the only person Pam wanted to talk to was likely her.

She'd had to wait through the ceremony, and the cocktail hour, the receiving line, the first dance, dinner, and even the cake.

Both Jo and Damian had been resistant to the 'shove cake in each other's face then kiss' tradition—and for good reason, it was pretty weird. Damian had assured those watching that he knew what Jo's mouth tasted like, and knew what cake tasted like, and that he really didn't understand why he had to have both at once. But then Carrie had called him a party pooper and smacked him on the back, so they'd caved and done it anyway.

But finally, as people finished their dessert and the dance floor opened up, Harley was left alone for a precious moment, and Pam—Ivy—immediately took notice, crossing the lawn with a relieved smile on her face.

"So glad you could make it, Pamela," Harley told her—aware of the two couples sitting within earshot. "Wasn't sure if you'd come."

Pam sat down beside her, obviously resisting the urge to do something more affectionate than just a cordial nod. "Beautiful ceremony," she said.

"Wasn't so bad, right?" Harley chuckled. "My friend Selina and I planned the whole thing."

"Well I'm impressed," Ivy granted. "And the bride seems happy. More so then I expected, I must admit."

"I was more surprised that the groom looked happy," Harley grinned. "That's actually pretty rare, if you can believe it."

"Bruce Wayne's son? Of course I can," Pam smiled back, although there was pain in her eyes. She wanted to be able to enjoy this like everyone else. Like a Mother watching her only daughter get married should be allowed to enjoy it. But the barriers were…insurmountable. They'd have a real conversation when they got home, but Harley still felt bad. Guilty, even if she had nothing to do with what was ailing her.

"Umm…excuse me," both women turned to find Supergirl standing above them. Yes, Supergirl. In full costume. Harley had invited Kara Danvers, and she'd even seen her arrive, wearing a cute summer dress and glasses. This look was…a little different.

"Supergirl," Harley greeted, Surprised. "I didn't—uh—I didn't know you were coming."

Rather than engage in the same faux conversation Harley and Pam had been having, however, Kara knelt down next to her chair, leaning forward to whisper in her ear: "Dr. Quinzel, is it OK if I ask your wife to dance? She seems sad and Supergirl's the only one who could dance with her without it looking suspicious, I think."

Harley's heart melted. "Is that why you changed?"

Kara nodded silently.

"Then you're free to ask," Harley couldn't help but smile, even though it meant forfeiting her moment with Pam. She'd let Kara be her surrogate.

Pam looked at Harley first before giving Kara her answer, her wife giving her the go-ahead.

 _"_ _Excuse me, ladies." Flash interrupted._

 _"_ _There's another cake under the table." Harleen told him distractedly, wanting to get back to she and Pamela's conversation. "Pam alerted me to your unique caloric requirements."_

 _"_ _No," he laughed. "Thank you, but I was coming to ask for a dance."_

 _"_ _I'm not sure how effectively Harleen's wheels will—"_

 _The blonde woman smiled and placed her hand on Ivy's knee to interrupt her. "I think he meant with you, Babe."_

 _Pam looked up at him confusedly at first, but her expression quickly changed to guarded and skeptical. "Why…?"_

 _"_ _Is she always paranoid?" Flash asked the bride in the wheelchair._

 _"_ _Go, Pam." Harleen patted her knee. "Live a little so I can live vicariously through you."_

She was yanked out of her memory when Selina flopped down heavily next to her. "I'm exhausted."

Harley blinked, registering Selina's presence, and the absence of the two couples she and Pam had been shining on. "God, you were so drunk…"

Selina looked confusedly at her. "I'm sorry?"

"At my wedding," Harley explained. "Flash came to ask Pam to dance, and then you sat down next to me, absolutely wasted."

"Oh," Selina looked down at her lap. "Yeah, Harley—look, I've apologized, that's really all I can do at this point."

"No, it's not—it's not that," Harley said. "It's…you're the only one that's changed. All this time, you're the only one that's any different. Look, Pam's still dancing with a superhero, I'm still in this fucking chair, but you...fuck, Selina. I'm back in this fucking chair."

Selina nodded slowly. "For like the last five years now, yes."

"No, I mean…" Harley wiped a tear away from her eye. "I worked so hard just to end up right back where I started."

The brunette looked out onto the dancefloor, observing the wide berth the other guests were giving Ivy and Supergirl. "No, Harley, you're not the same. You not being able to walk again doesn't erase everything else you've done. You were pretty shitty back then, Harley. I mean—we all were, but it's not just me who's changed." She said, taking Harley's hand. "I'm sitting here right now knowing that you are my friend. Happy that Pam chose you. Happy that I've been given the opportunity to watch your kids mature, happy that your daughter is now officially a Wayne. None of that would have been true back then. I hated you, Harleen. I mean it, I really did. And chair or no chair, you're a better person now then you've ever been."

Harley swallowed, now watching Pam as well. "I wish I could be the wife she deserves," she said, quietly. "And I wish—I hate that she has to keep putting my pieces together."

Selina cleared her throat. "Do you know what I've learned about Pam in the 50-something years we've known each other?" she waited until Harley had turned to her to continue. "I learned that she's a caretaker. She wants to help things grow. Her plants, her kids, even you…that's what she does in the Spring: helps her flowers grow. And in the Summer, she lives with them…she loves them…and then in the Fall she sits with them as they wilt. She knows that all of these stages are of equal importance." Selina stopped to swallow back the emotion that was creeping into her voice. "You are in your Fall, Harley. And so she'll sit with you and love you just as much as she did in your summer and in your spring. That's her burden, and she shoulders it with pride."

Selina was looking at her intently now, forcing her to make eye contact. "You didn't want to take that on with her. You didn't want to help her replant after winter. And neither did I, for that matter. Or Bruce. And Talia—who had the balls to show up here today, that slippery bitch—never plants anything at all, so she's free to survive her cycles without burden.

They heard Kara's laugh over the music, and that made Harley smile.

"So I say we count our blessings," Selina concluded. "And appreciate Pam's attention and assistance, and tell her that's exactly what we're doing while we're still here. Because she's the one who will ultimately be left alone, not us. Because we get to move on, eventually, and that makes our burden a whole helluva lot easier to shoulder."

"Hey," Bruce greeted as he pulled a chair up, sitting down next to Selina. "See? Weddings aren't so bad, are they?"

Selina smiled, leaning in to give him a slow kiss, breathing in as she did. "I love weddings Bruce. Especially the ones that aren't mine."

/

"Bye, Ma. Thank you guys so much," Jo pulled she and Selina into a hug. "Goodbye, Ivy," she waved to her where the redhead was standing off to the side, mouthing 'love you' before looping her arm around Damian's.

They were nearly at the car when Damian stopped cold, looking into the shadows like a hunting dog who'd just heard a stick break.

"What?" Jo asked, confused…until Talia al Ghul stepped out of the shadows.

"Mother?" Damian said, sounding genuinely surprised.

 _Seriously? Now?_ Jo groaned internally. Their honeymoon was only 48 hours and they were already on the clock.

"Damian," the woman intoned.

"Uh…Jo?" she offered, trying to feel included.

"What are you—what are you doing here?" Damian was trying to sound firm, but it came out a little shaky. "You weren't invited."

"You're the only child I have, Damian," she reminded him. "I wasn't about to miss your wedding."

"Alright," Jo separated from him, crossing her arms, "but—uh—you've missed every other important milestone, so…sorta lame to just drop him off on his Father's doorstep and suddenly show up when he turns out well-adjusted."

"Jo, it's fine," Damian said. "Just get in the car."

"Aww, boo. You're not gonna let me meet your Mom?" she pouted.

"You already have," Damian intoned, his gaze cold. "Her name is Selina Kyle."

"Oof," Jo cringed on Talia's behalf. "Better luck next time, Tally-ho."

 **Author's note: That song is called "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur and I listened to it WAAAAAYYYYY too many times while writing this chapter.**


	60. Chapter 60

**Author's note: No offense was meant to any Florida residents who might be reading this.**

Because Harley didn't expend the amount of energy she once did in her waking hours, she was rarely able to sleep in. Of course, that was totally fine, it was a schedule she'd been used to for some time as she used to utilize these early morning hours to exercise, but now…all she could really do was lay there. Lay and wait for the sun to rise and for Pam to wake up.

The most measurable example of progress Harley could claim with Pam, as a result of their relationship and her therapy, was that she no longer felt the need to comfort herself while asleep. She used to sleep in a tight ball, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, regardless of if Harley was in bed or not. But now, instead, she tended to sleep with her arms wrapped tightly around Harley, like she was some sort of paralyzed human teddy bear. Or just human teddy bear, she supposed, as they couldn't walk anyway. Like with the clam, pointing out she was paralyzed was redundant.

But whatever. _I can say whatever the fuck I want in here! …in here…in here…_ Harley imagined the thought echoing in her head.

Just then, Pam began to stir, retracting her hand from where it was wrapped around Harley's middle to sleepily rub her eyes.

She remembered how Anthony used to do that after Harley would remove his glasses at night. He always forgot to do that himself, but then she'd help him out and he'd reach his little hand up wondering where they'd gone.

"I told her not to go snorkeling," Pam mumbled.

Harley laughed. "What?"

"I said, 'Jo, you can't even swim'."

"Wh—yes she can!" Harley took a closer look and found that Pam's eyes were still closed. "Wait, are you asleep?"

"Anthony's playing the Titanic, meanwhile Jo's in a boating accident," Pam continued, nonsensically. "And who's stuck with the medical bills? Not Selina, that's for sure."

Harley tried her best to sit up, attempting to achieve a better vantage point on her wife. "Pam," she snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Pamela." Harley chuckled when she didn't respond. "Why would Selina pay our daughter's medical bills?"

"She's a terrible influence," was Pam's answer, although it was clear she was only about 20% there.

"Our daughter isn't trashy enough to get in a boating accident," Harley assured her, brushing away the hair that had fallen in front of Pam's closed eyes. "That's only for Florida residents who launch beer cans at the alligators that crawl into their yards."

"Hey, my Mother was from Florida," Pam sounded offended.

"Your Mother was from Virginia," Harley laughed. "And you hated your Mother."

"Oh, yeah," Pam smiled into her pillow before her breathing pattern began to resemble deeper sleep once more.

Harley sighed, looking out the window at the early morning sun. "Babe," she nudged Pam's shoulder. "Hey, I wish I didn't have to wake you up…"

No response.

"Paaammm," she poked her. "Pam."

The redhead stirred, her breath hitching slightly as she was yanked back to the land of the living. "I'm awake, I'm awake," she groggily declared, opening one bleary eye and then the other. "Are you OK? Did I oversleep?"

"Just a little bit," Harley told her.

"Do you—is your bag full?"

Harley had checked it when she woke up, and no, it wasn't in need of immediate emptying. "No. Hey—what were you dreaming about?"

Pam's expression was puzzled as she stretched. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just now," Harley said. "Jo was in a boating accident?"

"No," Pam shook her head, looking equally confused. "She's not nearly trashy enough to be in a boating accident. That's reserved for Florida residents."

Harley laughed. "Hey, your Mother was from Florida."

"No, my Mother was from Virginia…" Pam slowly corrected, her eyes narrowing. "Are you alright?"

Harley shook her head, smiling. "Un-fucking-believable."

Still appearing a bit lost, Pam decided to move on. "Well, good morning anyway," she kissed her on the cheek before sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"I just like that I'm the only person who'll ever know how much of a dork you are," Harley chuckled, putting her hands behind her head in a show of satisfaction.

"Dork, huh?" Pam turned to look at her. "Dr. Quinzel, do you know who I am?"

Harley grinned, "who?"

"Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, PhD," the redhead answered, climbing back onto the bed. "An eco-terrorist of international prestige," she crawled over her. "A senior member of the Justice League," she kissed her languidly. "Mother Nature's Chosen Protector," Harley giggled below her as she moved her kisses to her jawline, and then down her neck. "A goddess amongst men."

Without thinking, Harley attempted to arch her back as Pam's mouth lingered over her covered breast…only to remember that she didn't get to have this, not anymore. Not in the way she wanted it. Not in the lazy Sunday morning kind of way.

"Pam," she stopped her, placing her hands on her wife's shoulders to gently push her away. "We probably shouldn't."

And Pam actually looked…disappointed? Not apologetic, not guilty, not sympathetic…disappointed. "You're not even going to let me try?"

"I just don't feel like it today," Harley said. "Thanks, though." She leaned up in an attempt to kiss her, but Pam turned her head in what appeared to be an act of purposeful avoidance and climbed off—of both Harley and the bed.

Harley watched her curiously as Pam pulled a pair of jeans from the drawer—the ones she typically wore when working in the garden—and put her hair up into a messy bun. "Umm…hey," Harley began, sensing some tension. "Do you…work today? Up at The Watchtower?"

"No," Pam answered plainly. "I'll set you up downstairs and then I'll be in the garden if you need me."

"Doesn't Anthony have a pitch meeting at the Hall of Justice today? For that Aqualayer or whatever?"

"I believe so."

"Do you know if Kara will be there?" Harley asked.

Pam was curt: "I keep track of my own schedule, it's not my job to memorize Kara's as well."

Yeah…Harley wasn't a fan of this mood shift. _What the hell is her problem?_

In the old days, Harley probably would have sat there thinking on it for a while. Analyzing the moments leading up to the shift, Pam's body language—every subtle movement…but she really didn't have the patience for that shit anymore. "Hey, what the hell is your problem?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to," Pam told her, pulling a sweatshirt on to battle the crisp morning air.

"I'm referring to your suddenly bitchy attitude," Harley clarified, grabbing behind her for the headboard and yanking herself into a seated position. "Are you disappointed in me because you feel like I'm giving up on the sex thing?"

"Nope," Pam answered simply. "Your body, your choice. Would you like to take your shower now or tonight?" she asked, changing the subject.

 _UUUGGGGHHHHH, fine! Dr. Quinzel it is._

 _Alright, so…Pam said she didn't really care for sex. She does it with me because she likes to see me satisfied, and—Oh! Fuck, that was easy. Pam gleans her sexual satisfaction from my satisfaction, so my not taking what she offers leaves her without a stimulus, either mental or physical._

"You're horny."

Pam immediately straightened up from where she was bent over, putting a pair of socks on. "What?"

"Sorry—thorny," Harley laughed. "Pam, this is the kinda stuff you need to actually talk to me about. I'm just going off of the information you've given me, and in the last conversation we had on the subject you told me you only really have sex for me."

"Yes, well, that was—," she cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "That was 8 years ago."

 _Huh? That can't be right_. "I think your math is a little off."

"Jo was 15," Pam murmured, keenly studying her nails in the same way Jo did when she wanted to divert attention. "She's 23 now…that was 8 years ago."

"Wait a minute," Harley frowned. "Are you trying to tell me you haven't had an orgasm in 8-fucking-years?"

Pam blushed a deeper shade of green. "I'm sure there were nocturnal emissions I wasn't aware of…" she said, still refusing to look her wife in the eye.

"Pam, that's nuts!" Harley wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "What the fuck? How have you not torn apart a building or something? And now you're not even getting the secondary satisfaction from me…no, that's unacceptable. Come here. Take that bulky-ass sweatshirt off."

"No, it's fine, Harleen, really," Pam assured her. "I'm a plant, I don't—it's really not necessary."

"Pamela. Lillian. Isley." Harley bored holes into her with her gaze. "Come here. Now."

"No, it's—it's stupid," Pam shook her head. "I hate—I'm not needy."

"Pammy, I have to wait for you to wake up before I can get out of bed in the morning." Harley reminded her. "You empty my urine bag and insert a new catheter into my urethra every morning. You carry me into the shower. You make every one of my meals as I can no longer reach the stove—you wanna talk about neediness? That's neediness."

"Yes, but I'm happy to do all of those things," Pam assured her, her tone sincere. "It doesn't bother me."

"And you think relieving Poison Ivy's frustration bothers _me_?" Harley laughed. "Babe, have you looked in the mirror lately? It would be my honor. Now please take that sweatshirt off so I can see you."

Pam swallowed before doing what she was told, folding it once it was off and placing it gently on the chair in the corner.

"And the socks,"

She did so one by one, her skin remaining the flushed emerald it got when she was embarrassed or feeling bashful (which were both extremely rare).

"And the jeans, please."

Pam took a deep breath before stripping those off as well, folding them like she had the sweatshirt and setting them on the chair.

Harley smiled lascivious. "How about the shirt?"

The redhead drummed her fingers on her bare thigh a moment before slowly lifting the shirt up and over her head.

See…Pamela—Ivy was an extremely confident person. She was well aware of her beauty and sex appeal, it was what she was most famous for, after all…but she also hated to feel vulnerable. Hated feeling like she was at the mercy of anyone else. She'd simply been hurt too many times. So even now…asking for something like this…to take something without giving anything in return…wasn't exactly something she was comfortable with.

"Ugh," Harley groaned, covering her eyes. "Would you stop being so perfect?"

"You used to like that about me," she heard Pam say as the bed creaked and she climbed in next to her.

"Yeah, but that was back when I was pretty close to perfect too," Harley smiled, taking her hands away to observe her wife where she was now lying next to her. "But your boobs were always way better than mine."

"They've certainly come in handy over the years," Pam acknowledged with a sigh. "And I suppose I should be grateful for their 'buoyancy'. I hear most other women experience significant back pain."

Harley looked at her confusedly. "You mean they're not heavy?"

"No," Pam shrugged. "I noticed no difference in weight after the procedure."

"You mean…your boobs literally defy physics?" Harley didn't even try to hide her wonderment. "I mean—you've got a lot of cool powers, but holy crap, that one takes the cake. I have literally never been more impressed with you than I am right now."

Pam laughed, pulling Harley down out of her sitting position. "I think I'm going to take offense to that."

Harley grinned, turning her head to face her on the pillow. "Alright, I've got one question. Just one, OK? Then we can get started."

Pam sighed again, running her hand distractedly up and down Harley's stomach. "Fine."

"So…I know this whole 'Jessica Rabbit come to life' thing wasn't exactly naturally occurring, so…what did you look like before Woodrue got his hands on you?" Harley asked. "Your body, I mean."

Pam frowned, considering the question. "Are you familiar with the film _The Help_?"

Harley scoffed. "Of course. You even made me read the book before we saw it."

"Well, I was born in 1933, so it was relevant to my upbringing seeing as I, too, was a young female professional in the 1960s who saw the rise of the civil rights and feminist movements firsthand," Pam said defensively.

"Calm down," Harley laughed, pecking her on the lips. "I liked it. Now go on."

"Anyway…" Pam sighed with considerable exaggeration. "Emma Stone in _The Help_ is the most accurate answer I can give. Even the hair," she admitted. "My Mother would take me into the salon three days a week to straighten it out when I was younger because she found it embarrassing and unattractive, so if you're wondering, there aren't any pictures. Then I took myself throughout high school and college—Sunday, Wednesday, Friday, like clockwork…Woodrue's procedures changed it to the texture it is now—evidently he wasn't a fan of its natural state either, but—yes—it _was_ rather curly. Or—"kinky", as my Mother put it. She used to say that if we still lived in Virginia, they'd have to bus me to…Oh, God," Pam laughed—abruptly stopping her train of thought. "I'm a gay scientist with a PhD and a black grandson. My Mother is rolling in that unmarked grave I fucking buried her in."

Harley laughed too as Pam kissed her excitedly. "Awesome foreplay, Babe. Really. Top notch." Pam's smile was broad against her lips. "And good to know your Mother was a racist too. Finally got bigot bingo."

"Ah, then congratulations are in order," Pam kissed her again and Harley sighed, truly impressed that Pam had yet to run out of 'seriously, my Mom was awful' stories.

"So you started out a Skeeter and ended up a Celia, huh?" Harley chuckled, nuzzling their noses together.

Pam gave herself a moment to mull over the comparison. "Sure," she finally decided. "If Celia happened to also have the abs of a fitness model, and the intellect of—,"

"—fuck, alright, we get it, you're awesome," Harley rolled her eyes affectionately. "Now are ya gonna climb on or what?"

"Well if you insist," Pam smirked.

/

"Wait! K—Ms. Danvers! Excuse me!"

Kara stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning around to find the owner of the voice running towards her before skidding to a stop a few feet in front of her.

"Hi," he breathed. "So glad I caught you. It's—I'm Anthony Quinzel, it's a pleasure," he transferred the stack of paper and presentation board he was holding into his left hand so he could shake with his right…

…which Kara happily reciprocated. "I know who you are." She grinned, making sure not to grip his hand too hard. "You're Dr. Isley's son."

"I'm sure 'Pamela' or 'Ivy' is fine," Anthony assured her. "But don't quote me on that. She might prefer the formality. Her bark is worse than her bite, is my point…well…for the most part."

"Oh! And you're Karen's husband!" Kara realized, embarrassed for not having made that connection earlier. "You two have that adorable little boy."

"Ah, well, 'Partner', but yes," his eyes smiled along with his mouth as he straightened his already perfectly straight glasses.

Kara grinned. "You could be a superhero too, I think. You've got the glasses and the jawline. My wife, Lena, says those must be the two main requirements."

Anthony looked almost surprised as he laughed. "I had no idea Lena Luthor had a sense of humor."

"Oh, she doesn't," Kara told him earnestly—even if it wasn't true, "She's completely serious about that."

"Then I shall take it under advisement," he decided…and Kara decided that Anthony reminded her of Clark and James, maybe, and that there should be more men like them that use their handsomeness for good and not evil.

"So what were you running around for?" Kara asked. "Seemed like you had something important on your mind."

"Oh, right, yeah, sorry." He quickly apologized, kneeling down to place his papers on the floor so he could better show her his presentation board. "The League occasionally contracts me to design and manufacture suits for its members," he indicated the image of Aquagirl on his board wearing what she assumed was his new design. "Like for Mareena here—she gets dehydrated quickly and becomes less effective the longer she stays out of the water, so this design includes an "Aqualayer" which essentially traps water against her skin and filters it throughout the day, so she doesn't need to charge in her sea tanks for as long in between missions. Instead, all she needs to do is fill her suit back up."

"That's such a good idea!" Kara said enthusiastically. "Should I…should I wish you good luck on your pitch? Or…"

"Oh, no," Anthony chuckled warmly. "Thank you, I already got the go ahead. No, my Mother—Harley—,"

"Dr. Quinzel," Kara nodded.

"Right," Anthony smiled. "Dr. Quinzel. We were just really grateful you took time out of your schedule to come to my Sister's wedding, and changing into your suit so that my Mother—,"

"Dr. Isley." She was invested in his story and wanted to make sure she was following correctly.

"Dr. Isley," he acknowledged. "—would feel less alone was exceedingly kind. So, in return, I would like to formally volunteer my services. Mine and Karen's. We'd like to update your suit, if we could."

Kara furrowed her brow. "What do you mean? Is it outdated?"

"Well…no…"

"It works just fine," she guaranteed. "Blocks bullets…that's really all I need. Besides, my good friend made it for me." But Kara had seen the suit Anthony made for his Sister and for his Brother-in-law…and that Aquagirl one looked pretty cool, so… "But—just out of curiosity," she began, trying not to tip her hand. "What would you change about it?"

Grinning, Anthony turned presentation board around so that she could see the back…which displayed a large sketch of her that he must have done in pencil. "Pants." He answered triumphantly.


	61. Chapter 61

Ivy hummed to herself as she walked down the sidewalk, past the fountains towards The Hall of Justice, smiling at the warmth of the early morning sun on her face.

"Poison Ivy!" a reporter called from behind the press line. "Poison Ivy, is an attack imminent?"

 _Well that sounds serious_ , Ivy thought, stopping at the bottom of the grand steps that lead up to the front entrance to approach press corps.

Which seemed to…surprise…everyone. Even the reporter who'd asked the question.

"What seems to be the problem?" Ivy asked, her tone…chipper.

"Uhh—ga—thh—," the reporter struggled to get her words out, her microphone shaking in her outstretched hand as Ivy leaned into it.

"Imminent," Ivy repeated. "Meaning 'overhanging' or 'about to happen'. Seems you need to get that question out while I can still be of service."

The reporter seemed to be recovering from her initial shock now, and finally blurted out: "White Martians! They're—satellites picked up a ship."

"Oh," Ivy said, frowning with concern. "Well that _is_ upsetting."

"Does the Justice League have a contingency plan in place to combat this?"

"I certainly hope so," Ivy chuckled. "Either way, I'd suggest you all get in doors. Seeing a White Martian in its natural form can really ruin your day, believe you me." Then she smiled at the reporter in front of her. "What a gorgeous necklace."

"Oh, umm—thank you," the reporter blushed as Ivy reached a hand out to closer examine the pendant.

Without thinking, Pam said: "I bought the exact same one for my w—allet," _Goddamn it_. "With my wallet." She corrected. "I bought it with my wallet because that's where I keep my money, of course. Well…great. We'll take care of the White Martians, you get off our sidewalk…everything is fine." Ivy tried to bring the conversation to a definitive end and nodded before spinning on her heels, heading quickly up the front steps.

"Oh, here, let me get that for you," Ivy told Wally West, who was scaling the steps in front of her. A tree root leapt up from the ground and wrapped around the door's handle, pulling it open.

Wally looked a bewildered as he said: "thank you?"

"No problem," Ivy grinned, stepping inside behind him, her clapping heels on the marble floor sounding almost melodic to her. "Good morning, Clark! Jon, J'onn," she nodded at each of them as she laughed. "That's funny. Did no one ever think that was funny? Or have you just never stood next to each other?"

"Good morning, Dr. Isley," J'onn greeted in return, although he too seemed puzzled. Clark looked almost concerned and Jon seemed scared.

"Kendra," Ivy nodded as she stepped into the elevator next to Hawkgirl. "Or—no! it's Shiera now, isn't it? Sincerest apologies. I love your hair!"

"Uh—thanks," Shiera offered, looking perturbed as she pressed the button for the 3rd floor.

Ivy tapped her foot in tune with her humming as the elevator took them up to the Hall's recreational quarters, where she zeroed in on Jo and Damian as soon as the doors slid open.

"Hello, My Daughter who seems to think it's appropriate to treat this communal space like it's her living room," she acknowledged with the same lighthearted tone and sing-songy cadence she'd been using all morning.

Jo frowned, lifting her head from where it was laying on Damian's lap, the two of them lounging on the couch—well, Jo lounging and Damian allowing it. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Ivy questioned.

"On your face. There's something on your face."

Ivy panicked slightly as she wiped around her mouth. She'd just given a television interview, something on her face was the worst case scenario. "Where?"

"Right there!" Jo pointed.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Your smile, Pamela. She's referring to the smile on your face."

"Ah, yes," Ivy closed her lips over her teeth, tamping down her happiness just slightly. "And my Son-in-law who continues to insists on treating me like a peer despite my seniority and the fact he's now married to my daughter; how could I forget you? Good morning. I hope it's treating you well."

Jo narrowed her eyes, setting the tennis ball she'd been tossing in the air to the side and sitting up. "What's going on with you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Ivy told her. "But I am wondering what you're doing here. Shouldn't you be in San Francisco?"

"White Martian threat, they wanted us all under one roof so we could mount a united defense," Jo answered quickly.

Damian was eyeing her with the same critical regard Jo had employed. "I think she got laid," he decided after a moment.

"Who?" Jo was confused.

"Your Mom." Damian told her. "She either just had sex, or she's pregnant."

"Ugh, that reminds me—we're never having kids," Jo informed him nonchalantly before taking another look at Ivy. "Holy shit," she realized. "Please tell me it was Ma."

"Jo, that's—," Pam began, but was cut off by Damian saying: "What the hell does that mean?"

Jo turned to him, asking: "What do you mean what does it mean? I don't want kids, thought my statement was fairly self-explanatory."

"You can't just declare that!" Damian shot back. "It's a joint decision!"

"—disgusting you'd assume or even suspect I'd be unfaithful to your Mother in any capacity," Ivy mumbled, leaving them to their conversation. "But yes, I did get laid. Not that it's any of your business…"

"Who are you talking to?" Donna Troy asked as Ivy passed her in the doorway.

Ivy stopped, turned to her, and with a sigh, reached into her pocket, pulling out a $20 bill. "You should be able to buy at least two chickens with this. Go do that."

/

"Can you just fucking not?" Damian ducked to avoid Jo's quick flurry of batarangs which stuck in the alien behind him.

"I'm trying to have an adult conversation," he growled, pulling out his grappling gun and firing from the ground. The hook ripped through a Martian's stomach, securing itself there so that Damian could reel it in. He reached for his belt…but nothing came to his hand. "Goddamn it, Jo. Where are my swords?"

"How the fuck should I know?" Jo asked, taking care of the Martian he had hooked by pulling the pin on one of her grenades and waiting until just before it detonated to throw it. "Did you leave them at home?"

Having cleared their immediate surroundings, Damian took a moment to rip his hook out of the alien spasming at their feet. "I took them to get them sharpened…did I leave them in the car?"

Jo opened her mask. "Were you even looking in the right compartment?"

"Of course! I'm not an idiot, Jolene. Believe it or not, I'm more than capable of—,"

"Did you check on your back?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What did I just say?" he demanded. "I said I'm not a fucking idiot." He reached behind his back anyway to prove a point…and the swords sprung to his hands.

"See, this is why we…" Jo trailed off as the light changed, and they both looked up to see it was because a White Martian was blocking their sun.

But it wasn't long for this world, as—at the moment it raised its fist—a tree root stabbed through its head, coming out the front through its eye before quickly retracting. The alien dropped to its knees before falling forward onto its face…revealing an irritated Poison Ivy.

"We don't have time for your heterosexual nonsense," she told them. "Damian, of course Jolene wants children. She loves children. She made a reactionary statement stating an opinion that she's comfortable with for right now. You just got married." She reminded them, and as she did, they watched a thick vine shoot up from the ground behind her and wrap around a Martian that was quickly approaching. "Allow a little time for that to sink in and for Jo to actually adjust to adulthood before beginning those conversations. You're young, there's plenty of time. However, Damian, with your family history and personality, it honestly isn't unreasonable for Jo to assume you might not want children. So, although the inevitable conclusion is that you _will_ have children, it's not ridiculous for the alternative to be considered. Now do your job. I shouldn't have to be parenting right now just like you shouldn't be quarreling."

"Fine," Jo and Damian mumbled in unison, Jo's mask closing back over her reddened face.

/

"Uhhh…I don't know, you guys…"

"Kara, Honey, just come out here, please," Lena was growing impatient. "I'm sure you look fine."

"I know I _look_ fine," the blonde guaranteed from the bathroom. "It's just…it's weird not being able to feel a breeze."

"I think you'll eventually come to appreciate the lack of breeze," Karen chuckled from her place on the couch next to Anthony, and in another moment, Kara did (somewhat reluctantly, it seemed) emerge from the bathroom.

She seemed nervous as her hands tentatively came to rest on her hips in an attempt to assume her 'hero pose'…but quickly deflated, her shoulders slumping as she dropped her hands. "I don't know, I just—it doesn't really feel like _me_ , I don't think."

Anthony was confused—if not a bit disappointed. They'd made sure to keep the essence of her old suit. Pay homage and improve, that was always their motto when approaching the aesthetics of a design.

They'd recreated the material with only slight structure modifications to improve durability, so it should feel the same on her skin. As far as color, they didn't change that either, just added a few sky blue highlights on her sides and shoulders to accentuate her v-taper. And yes, they'd added a collar…and a yellow highlight around the edge of her cape…changed the belt design to something a bit thinner…added some red to her pants, broadened the symbol on her chest and anchored the cape there, so the red of the 'S' began the red of her cape…alright, so maybe they changed more things than Anthony realized. Plus, you know, pants. But still, Anthony and Karen had been pretty pleased with themselves. And getting to work on a Super had been such an honor…they understood how loved the Kryptonians were on this planet. How much their image meant, how pictures of Kara in this suit would be plastered onto the walls of millions of young girls (and probably a few teenaged boys).

Unlike the Bat-family, who operated under the cloak of darkness, everything the Supers did was on worldwide display. Needless to say, Anthony and Karen hadn't taken this assignment lightly.

"Is there anything that you don't like about it _specifically_?" Anthony asked, taking out a notepad. "Because we can always go back and make adjustments. We want you to feel comfortable and confident. Going into battle with a suit you don't like is—in my humble, non-super opinion—akin to arriving at school in only your underwear. Stressful for you, weird for everyone else."

Kara didn't answer, just stood in front of the mirror nervously wringing her hands, so Lena sighed and turned to explain that: "Kara doesn't like change. Processing it can be difficult for her. But the suit is gorgeous, honestly. And looks absolutely lovely on you, Kara," she raised her voice slightly to make sure she was getting through whatever mental blockade her wife was putting up. "Once she's grown more accustomed to it, we'll contact you should we come up with any specific gripes. But in the meantime, well done. Really and sincerely. I think it's a fantastic next step in her evolution as a hero."

/

"You look like your Mom, ya know," Jo said into the silence of their darkened bedroom.

"That's impossible," Damian murmured beside her.

Jo rolled her eyes. "OK, even if I was talking about Selina—which you know I wasn't—my statement would still be true as your Dad's type is so specific it extends not only to the children he collects but the woman he married as well. Seriously, if Selina were a boy, she'd look exactly like you…or Dick…or Tim…or Bruce, for that matter." She scoffed, "and they say my Mom's a narcissist."

"And Jason," Damian pointed out. "Seems like you've got a type too."

"Jason's dead."

Damian rolled away from her. "And Talia al Ghul is dead to me."

"Well, since we're being dramatic," Jo sat up and turned the bedside lamp on. "What happened to our adult conversation?"

"It got interrupted by platoon of shapeshifting aliens," he reminded her, still facing away.

Jo put her hand on his shoulder and pulled gently until she could see his face. "Why—after what you went through with Talia—would you want to have kids? Aren't you afraid of making the same mistakes?"

"Am I afraid of attempting to trap a man in a relationship he didn't want by manufacturing his child, only to realize that was a ridiculous fucking idea and drop the kid off on his Father's doorstep?" Damian prompted before holding up his left hand to show her his wedding ring. "Think I might be exempt from that particular scenario."

"Alright, fine," Jo laid back in a huff. "Well what if I do a shittier job then my parents and my Mom just drags on me 24/7?"

"Do they critique Anthony's parenting?" Damian asked.

Jo snorted. "Anthony is Anthony. They don't critique anything Anthony does."

"Just like Dick," Damian grumbled.

Thinking over the comparison a moment, Jo decided: "Yeah, fuck those guys. With their approachableness and generally pleasant nature. Who needs em?"

Damian chuckled, murmuring: "they're the worst," as he leaned forward to kiss her slowly, wrapping his arm around her as he did. "As much as I hate to admit it—Ivy is right. We don't have to talk about this right now. I don't have any interest in having kids at the moment either. In fact, the only reason I want them at all is to pass on the Batman mantle."

"Well, you better work on that wack-ass motivation," Jo informed, running a hand absently though his hair. "How about this: in two years, we reassess. I'll be 25, you'll be…31? That's—uh—respectable, right?"

"If we're not divorced by then," Damian acknowledged, pulling Jo's shirt up enough to expose her abdomen and leaning over her to kiss her neck.

"OK, first off—," Jo began. "That prenup you had me sign was weak as shit, so you're gonna want to have some contingency plans in place before you divorce me otherwise imma be blasting _Bitch Better Have My Money_ every time I see your sorry-ass face because Bitch, better have my money. Secondly—," she sat up a little further so that he could slip the shirt over her head. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Well…" he tossed her shirt off the bed and hovered over her, bracketing her body with his elbows. "We had a fight, we made up, now we get to have make-up sex."

Jo laughed. "Is that the typical order of events?"

He shrugged. "I don't make the rules; I just follow them."

"Since when?"

"Since I found a set of rules that I liked."

 **Author's Note: I don't know how familiar you guys are with Supergirl's costume history, but I was going for something of a compromise on her Smallville Season 11 and Supergirl: Last Daughter of Krypton looks.**


	62. Chapter 62

"It's an abuse of power, is what it is." Jo complained. "The fact that I'm 25 and have to drag myself to my parent's house to ask permission like I'm still 10 years old…Anthony didn't have to do that. Fuck—Anthony didn't even know!"

"Mhm," Damian distractedly acknowledged, his eyes on the road and his hands tight on the wheel.

"It's just—it's bullshit. It's a double-standard. And I'm sick of it."

"Mhm," Damian said again.

Jo narrowed her eyes, starring him down from the passenger seat. "Are you even listening?"

"Mhm."

Jo crossed her arms, sitting back against the seat with a huff. "You're not even listening."

"It's—uh—double standard and your Mom's a bitch and you're an adult," Damian lazily recited, clearly not completely 'with it'.

"What's your problem?" Jo wanted to know. "The space cadet thing is only cute when you end up handing me your credit card."

Damian snorted. "What do you think is my problem? It's not every day I have to jack-off in a cup and hand it to my Mother-in-law."

"I'll have you know that some people would be honored to jack-off in a cup and hand it to Poison Ivy," Jo informed him. "So count your blessings."

"Well, some people aren't married to her daughter." Damian pointed out, making the final turn towards his in-laws'.

"You'd be surprised how little that matters to some people," Jo mumbled, looking out the window.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh my God," Jo turned to him, laughing. "Did I never tell you that Jason had a pin-up of my Mom in his bedroom?"

"What?!"

"Yeah," Jo sat forward as they pulled into the driveway. "I mean…I made him take it down when we were—ya know…but yeah, my point is—don't assume the two are mutually exclusive. Being into me or my Mom, I mean."

"Jo," Damian shut off the car before turning to her, looking serious. "You willingly had sex—for three-fucking-years—with a guy you knew was probably picturing your Mom? What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Shit," Jo exhaled. "I don't know, Man. It was—uh—not exactly a period of my life that I'm proud of. But it got me here, so…" she leaned over to kiss him. "It is what it is." Opening the door, she wrinkled her nose. "Eww, that almost made it sound like I had feelings or something. Or that I loved you or whatever."

"Consider me repulsed," Damian stated, climbing out of the driver's seat and heading towards the side gate. He was about 10 feet away from his destination when he heard Jo start at a run behind him, and in a moment she'd jumped onto his back. "Wh—Jo, why? Just—why?"

"Just keeping you on your toes, Batman," Jo giggled into his ear. "You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting."

"Well what's my alternative? Body-slam you onto the pavement?" Damian asked, continuing towards the gate. "That's called 'domestic abuse' and your Mother would disembowel me."

"Good call," Jo laughed, securing her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he opened the gate. "You're right, she'd totally Hannibal your ass."

Duke was in the backyard holding a staff in front of Harley, who sat on the small stone path that had recently been added to the lawn so that she could venture off of the porch in her chair. "And…strike!" she instructed, and Duke listened, whipping the staff around in the air and coming down hard on an attack dummy that had clearly been lifted from the Batcave.

He grinned after his follow through, retracting the staff and smiling up at Harley. "How was that?"

"So good!" she applauded. "Can always be faster, though. Always, always, always."

"I'm faster with the nunchucks," Duke pouted, looking down disappointedly at his staff.

"Yeah, but we gotta be well rounded, D. Thems the rules," Harley winked. "Plus, you hit yourself in the head last time and your Mama got angry with Nana, so we gotta lay off the nunchucks for a bit, alright?"

"OK," Duke was answering when he noticed Damian carrying Jo through the gate. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "Aunt Jo, can you not walk anymore like Nana?"

"Nope!" Jo smiled. "Just wanted a piggy-back."

"And she's lazy," Damian added.

"And I'm lazy," Jo agreed. "Such a lazy superhero and gymnast that is still regarded as one of the best to ever compete despite never going to the Olympics or winning a world title and having retired 10 years ago. Lazy, lazy, lazy." She hopped down off his back. "Hey, Ma. Lookin' good," she chuckled, referring to the sweatshirt that said "Great Moms Get Promoted To Grandma" in big letters across the front.

Harley grinned. "Anthony got it for me."

"And my descent down the 'favorite kid leaderboard' continues," Jo exhaled.

"Well, that depends," Harley began, sagely. "Damian, will you be allowing your children to come over to Nana's house and play with nunchucks?"

"Of course," Damian assured her. "Nunchuck training is a vital aspect of the Bat-family curriculum."

That was clearly the answer Harley wanted to hear because she smiled, almost bushing. "At the very least, Jo, Damian has jumped in front of Karen, which raises your combined score."

"Oh, great," Jo nodded. "Glad you put so much thought into this. Where's Mom?"

Harley snapped her fingers. "I'll give you a prize if you can guess."

"The greenhouse," Jo said. "What's my prize?"

"The word 'duh' because duh," Harley chuckled at her own joke. "Now off you go. If you want Duke in that Robin suit in the next four years you're gonna have to stop interrupting our training sessions. Can't get any work done in these conditions."

Jo rolled her eyes and grabbed Damian by the hand, pulling him towards the greenhouse. And with each step she could feel him resisting more. "Dude, suck it up. Your thing is fun. My thing fucking hurts. Plus, you didn't have to do the shots or anything, so seriously, stop your bitching."

"I'm not bitching," Damian grumbled behind her as Jo unlatched the door and stepped into the greenhouse's noticeably warmer climate.

"Good afternoon, Jolene," Pam greeted from where she sat behind her work bench, her focus aimed firmly at whatever medieval torture device she was holding in her hand.

Jo turned to Damian. "Are they being weird? They're being weird, right? Mom, why are you being all cordial and why did Ma barely give me the time of day out there?"

"I…am…finishing…this up," Pam murmured, keeping her bottom lip firmly between her teeth before letting out a contented sigh and placing the instrument on her workbench. "And as for your Mother—she's nervous and has reminded me about 17 times in the last three hours that I'm not a Medical Doctor. So there you go."

"Great, fine, thanks—that thing's not going inside me, is it?" Jo asked, immediately rerouting the conversation and pointing a shaking, accusatory finger at whatever the hell Ivy had been working on. "I mean, I—look, guys, I can put up with a lot of shit and my pain threshold is pretty damn impressive, but I think the fuck not."

Pam seemed confused on her meaning for a moment. "Oh, you mean…? No, this won't—not vaginally," she laughed. "Goodness, that would be…borderline acrobatic."

"Wait, that?" Damian was now the one confused. "I thought women—,"

"—only the ones who get paid to say they do." Pam cut him off. "What—,"

"—8," Jo answered the question Pam hadn't yet asked.

"Hm."

"Hey, wait a minute," Damian said, sounding suspicious and then offended. "Now you wait just a minute…"

Jo pat him on the back sympathetically. "Life comes at you fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. And the _it_ in this context is the boat that topic just sailed away on."

"Damian," Pam tossed a cup at him to get his attention, the plastic bouncing off his chest before he fumbled to catch it. "You know what's required of you. I sincerely hope I don't have to walk you through the specifics of the task…"

"No, I—yeah, I got it," he said, his face reddening.

"Great," Pam smiled. "The second upstairs bathroom is open to you, as is Jo's bedroom. I'm afraid I can't provide you with any visual aids…" she sounded only slightly apologetic. "So you'll just have to use your imagination."

"That's…fine," Damian decided before raising an eyebrow at Jo. "You good? You don't—uh—need me here, or anything?"

"To watch my Mom reach into my uterus?" Jo wondered, plopping down on the table Ivy usually used for specimen examination. "Nah, I think I'm good. Have fun!"

"Yeah," Damian mumbled, taking one last look at Jo before ducking back out of the greenhouse, cup in hand.

Pam waited until the door closed behind him to clear her throat and lean against her work bench, her eyes scanning her daughter critically. "Are you eating enough?"

Jo laughed, that was such a Mom thing to ask. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm eating enough. My husband's a billionaire and I've got Supergirl's fucking metabolism. I have to reserve one of my suit's compartments just for snacks."

"Right," Pam acknowledged. "Which is why it's easy for you to become malnourished."

"Billionaire, Mom," Jo reiterated. "Billionaire with a 'b'. I'm not going hungry."

Pam sighed. "I never assumed it was thanks to lack of funds. You can sometimes get complacent, is all, and I know you're busy."

Jo spread her arms wide. "Do I look malnourished to you?" when Pam didn't respond, Jo exhaled, dropping her arms back down to her sides. "Turns out I'm sorta OK at being an adult. I feed myself, I sleep when I can, I always show up to work on time…umm…what else," she chewed on her lip, thinking a moment. "I would consider myself happy, at work and at home. But—see, Damian and I are both—for all intents and purposes—human, and that means all this shit could get taken away from us pretty quick, so we decided it would really suck if something happened to one or both of us and we hadn't…you know…done _this_ yet. So there's the answer to the question you're not asking, but you really are asking. We're here because we're here. It's what we're doing."

It was a moment before Pam reacted at all, but when she did, it was a simple nod. "Fine." She decided, reaching behind her to pull on a lab coat. "This is an externalized ultrasound machine, curtesy of Wayne Tech," she placed a hand on the instrument Jo was happy was _not_ being shoved inside her body. "Typically, with a procedure like this, the physician would vaginally insert an ultrasound probe to guide the extraction needle, but instead, we'll be giving this a try. This is just a prototype, but the idea is that it should provide me the same visibility without penetration."

Jo detected some excitement in her voice. "You're pumped you get to use a new toy, aren't you?"

"I am," Pam smiled. "Now the needle, on the other hand, is both necessary and painful, so after you change into this…" she grabbed the folded hospital gown from her desk, "I'll get you some pain medication."

Jo bobbed her head, looking around the greenhouse. "Shouldn't we be in like a sterilized room or something?"

"To you and I, this environment is sterile," Pam explained. "I'll attempt to extract three eggs from your uterus, then I'll fertilize them with the sample Damian provides me. After that, they'll be housed in my incubation tank here, and if any of them take, then I'll eventually transfer them to the larger tanks at Wayne Manor. Your body is, of course, not conducive to housing a fetus, so external maturation is our only option."

Jo furrowed her brow. "Why three?"

"Because the estimated likelihood of success is between 8 and 12%," Pam told her. "It's a fickle thing, your physiology. But I will do my best. That, I can promise you."

 _Deep breaths_. "OK," Jo offered a small smile…that she knew likely wasn't convincing anyone.

Pam smiled back, a reverence in her expression that reminded Jo of…of that time Pam came to her flag football game—the only one she ever went to—and she leaned forward and gently kissed her on the cheek and told her to have a good game. It was odd, how Pam could make anything sound important. That was one of her more underappreciated superpowers, but Jo remembered how her heart had swelled at hearing that, how she'd repeated it over and over in her head: _'Mom wants me to have a good game, Mom wants me to have a good game'_. Jo had wanted to have a good game too…and she did. And she got to have that good game in front of her Mom and Pam was happy and Pam smiled and Pam was proud.

Jo's hand clenched around Pam's now, and just like on that day, her Mom leaned forward and gave her a kiss—this one on the forehead. "OK," she whispered against her skin.

And it was OK, Jo decided. It would be OK.

/

"Alright, I can't—just wait, just wait."

"No!" Harley shouted. "No, no, no!"

"Just pause the goddamn—ugh," Pam took matters into her own hands, getting up to snatch the remote away from her wife. "I have questions!"

"No, you have complaints," Harley pointedly corrected, scowling at her. "It's sci-fi, Pamela. Quit trying to apply it to the real world."

"Harleen, I am the plant-human hybrid result of a mad scientist's experiment. I AM sci-fi," she forcefully reminded her. "All I'm asking for is a bit of consistency! And to know why the FBI doesn't have actual pathologists employed. Why is Scully doing all the autopsies?! That's not her job!"

Harley raised an eyebrow. "You done?"

"No, I'm not done!" Pam caviled. "How is she still a skeptic? I'm asking honestly, like—look, I was a scientist too, one who had every textbook on my subject memorized, one that always stuck to strict experimental procedure, but at the point that I was abducted, strapped to a table and turned into something other, I fucking realized that maybe everything isn't so black and white. DOES SHE NOT REMEMBER BEING ABDUCTED? Because I sure as hell remember her being abducted. The fact that you made me sit through those solo Mulder episodes, was…I know torture, Harleen. And that, was torture."

"OK, it was literally like two episodes, so calm yourself," Harley snapped. "And no, she can't remember being abducted, they wiped her memory or whatever. And she's a woman of science! Let her have her doubts, she always comes around in the end."

"And that's the problem!" Pam argued. "She gets proven wrong and shown things that she didn't think were possible every goddamn episode. Where's the character development?! And is she—," her demeanor changed to genuinely inquisitive. "Is she a lesbian? Because it seems like they're pushing the will they, won't they thing pretty hard, and yet...blazers. Harley, she has so many blazers. And I don't remember 90s fashion well enough to gauge whether or not that was normal."

"I mean…" Harley frowned, thinking that over. "I started working at Arkham in '97…I don't think I had any blazers, really, and I still ended up married to a woman."

"Yes, well, if Scully was wearing neckties every day, I wouldn't need to be asking this question," Pam laughed, sitting back down on the couch.

"Wait, what do you…what do you mean?" Harley asked, sounding almost fragile as she turned her chair to face her fully. "You—I thought you liked my neckties."

"Oh, I did," Pam confirmed. "…because I'm a woman who likes women. Liked your vests too," she laughed.

"But they…they fit me well…" Harley muttered, her mind reeling. "When did you know?"

"Well," Pam sat forward with a smile. "There had only been one other doctor who'd worked at Arkham with Joan before you, so when Joan told me I was getting a new doctor and it was a woman I was excited because my game was much too easy to play with men, and honestly the whole 'I seduce them, they let me out, I kill them' thing was growing tiresome."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Why'd ya have to kill them, again?"

"Because Arkham guards are famously brutish and sexist and would regularly make comments about what they'd like to 'do to me' as they walked past my cell…so instead, I'd do what I wanted to them," Pam smiled contentedly. "In any case, attempting to seduce women was a far more enjoyable challenge seeing as how my pheromones are ineffective on the fairer sex."

Harley was growing impatient. "Will you get on with it?"

"I was all set for a challenge…and then I saw you walking down the hallway in that tie and I thought…"

"What?!" Harley demanded. "What did you think?"

"I thought 'damn it, too easy'," Pam laughed, ducking backwards to avoid the action figure Harley was volleying at her.

"You're such a bitch!" Harley exclaimed, hitting her in the side with another one as she laid there laughing on the couch (Anthony had brought over an entire case of them because they'd finally made an action figure with Kara wearing the costume he'd designed). "You're a predator, is what you are. You preyed on me."

"Yes," Pam acknowledged, trying to contain her laughter to just a smile. "It was my evil lesbian gaydar that convinced you to come onto me, and then sleep with me, and then marry me, and then have children with me."

"Nah, your gravity-defying tits did all that," Harley grumbled (though her resolve was breaking), throwing the last action figure she could reach.

"Understandable," Pam granted. "Regardless, we've come no closer to understanding Scully's sexuality, and I maintain that this show has enough plot holes to strain pasta," she stopped, furrowing her brow as she read the alert on her cellphone that had just buzzed beside her. "Huh…"

"What?"

"Well, today's the day we learn if any of Jo's embryos are viable…"

"Yeah…" Harley prompted. "Is there something wrong?"

"I'm…not sure," Pam admitted, getting up. "You can press play, if you want. It's obvious the townspeople are cannibals."

"Ugh, leave!" Harley waved her out the door. "You're ruining it for me."

"You've already seen it!" Pam shouted over her shoulder before exiting the house and crossing the backyard to the greenhouse.

She unlatched the door quickly, closing it firmly behind her before approaching the monitor attached to the incubation tank.

Pam was sure the readout she'd received was in error, there was just no way that… "Fuck."

/

"—I was successful because the opportunities were provided for me. Because I had the means and motivation to reach my goals," Jo was wrapping her speech up. "But there are too many children out there with every ounce the motivation that I had, but no way to get there. No path to success. The Wayne Foundation wants to open those paths. And that starts with this community center." She smiled as the crowd applauded. "Growing up, my husband and I were opportunity takers—accepting what was given to us and working hard to prove we deserved it. Now we're ready to be opportunity makers, and this one is for you all. So without further ado—the man, the myth, the legend. The mastermind behind this project—my husband, Damian Wayne."

She clapped for him, stepping away from the microphone so that he could take her place. When he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek she whispered: "Don't you dare say anything gross."

…So of course he began his speech with: "I may be the mastermind, but believe me when I say my wife is the heart and soul."

 _Asshole_ , Jo thought before her phone vibrated in her pocket and she turned away to check it.

 **Mom: Please come by the house at your earliest convenience.**

"Why does she have to be so cryptic?" Damian asked as they left the event.

Jo sighed, staring blankly at the back of their driver's head. "If it's a yes, it means we're going to be parents and that's probably something she wants to tell us in person because she's my Mother. If it's a no, I'm guessing she'll want to come up with a contingency plan as to how we'll go about it differently next time—how we can tweak the process to make it more successful." She glanced sideways at him before changing the subject. "You think they'll ever promote me? Or will I be commuting to San Francisco for the rest of my life."

"I don't know," Damian admitted, absently tapping his fingers on the seat between them. "Ivy's a better person to ask, I'm not even in those meetings."

"I asked what you thought, not what you know."

"When a spot opens up and they feel like you've earned it, then yes, I'm sure they'll promote you," Damian assured her.

"Fine," Jo mumbled in response, looking out the window at the passing cars until she recognized her parent's street.

Damian helped her out of the car and told the driver to wait and that they'd "be back shortly". They then headed straight for the greenhouse.

It was evening, the wind was picking up and Jo's jacket was meant more for fashion than function, making the trip up the driveway and across the backyard more unpleasant than usual.

When they did get inside, though, Jo was relieved to find Pam had maintained the steady humid climate—not that she'd ever let it drop below 'tropical' in there, but it was exactly what they needed.

Pam was sitting behind her desk, her hands clasped in front of her when they entered. "Evening," she said, trying a smile that looked a bit unnatural.

Jo could tell by her body language something was weird. "It's bad news, isn't it?"

"That…depends on your definition of 'bad'," Pam told her. "Please, have a seat." She gestured to the two chairs she'd placed in front of her desk, and Jo had to chuckle at her Mother's attempts to make this appear official.

Damian obliged, taking a seat, and Pam waited for Jo to do the same before beginning.

"So…the procedure was successful," Pam told them. "So very, very successful."

Jo was excited at first, sitting up straighter at the news, a smile stretching her lips…but as her Mother's expression remained…weird, she slowly deflated once more, watching Pam critically. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Pam cleared her throat. "I mean that—at this stage—it appears as if…all three embryos are viable."

Damian's jaw went slack, but Jo just nodded. "Cool, cool, cool," she said. "Got'cha. Very cool. Say, Mom, you wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?"

Pam, clearly surprised by her daughter's seemingly positive reaction, said: "Of course!" and reached into her desk to hand Jo a mug that appeared to have been painted by a child. "That's filtered," she pointed to the sink to her left and Jo smiled cordially, taking her mug to fill it up.

"She made that for me, you know," Pam was proudly telling Damian. "Can you believe her hand was ever small enough to make that little print?"

Damian came to as Jo began to drink. "No, Jo—don't…don't do the thing."

…and in the next moment Jo was spewing out her entire mouthful of water. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN ALL THREE?!"

Pam jumped, but recovered quickly, trying to appear unshaken. "In more common terms...triplets."

Jo launched her cup at the wall, shattering it into a million tiny fragments.

"Jolene!" Pam stood up. "I liked that mug! If you needed something to angrily throw—," she yanked one of her drawers completely off its track, dropping it atop the desk. "Here."

Jo and Damian peered inside to find it was full of…Rubik's Cubes. Just…chalk full of em.

"Mom," Jo cautiously began, abandoning what was now clearly the less important discussion. "Do you buy Rubik's Cubes in bulk just to throw them?"

"Well, yes," Pam said like it was obvious. "I'm convinced that's what they were manufactured for anyway. That and tricking children into playing and losing an unwinnable game."

"Unwinnable?" Damian asked her to clarify.

"Yes, I've been drafting a letter to the manufacturer," Pam assured them. "It's cruel, selling a puzzle to children that is impossible to solve."

"Jiminy Christmas," Jo muttered, snatching one of the cubes and plopping back down in her chair.

Pam watched, rapt, for the entire 3 minutes and 48 seconds it took Jo to solve it.

"Honestly," she slammed it down on the desk in front of the redhead once she'd finished. "You're overthinking it. It's about colors and patterns, it's not genetic engineering. And the fact that Poison Ivy's nemesis is a puzzle from the 80s is just—look, I can't do triplets, alright?"

Pam was staring, shell-shocked, at the object in front of her. Her green eyes wide, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.

"I think you broke her," Damian remarked to Jo, and when Pam still didn't say anything, he decided they needed to move on with or without her. "Obviously we'll have to terminate at least one of them. Two, preferably."

"But what if we end up aborting Amelia Earhart and keeping Hitler?" Jo was beginning to panic.

"Two girls and a boy," Pam mumbled, still in her state of severe depression.

"Then we'll keep one of the girls and the boy," Damian amended. "Fair?"

"Fa—no!" Jo shot back. "No, what if we abort Amelia Earhart and keep Aileen Wuornos?!"

"Then she'll still be Charlize Theron somewhere under there," was Damian's rebuttal.

"That's—ah, touché," Jo stopped to laugh. "No, hey, wait a minute, this isn't funny.

Pam seemed to have collected her wits, or was close to it at least because she sounded more present when she said: "You have time to make the decision. And—realistically—they might not all survive to term anyway. I just wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page…the page that, as it stands, says you can expect three children."

"Two girls and a boy," Jo repeated.

"Two girls and a boy," Pam confirmed.


	63. Chapter 63

_Hi! I'm Carrie! I enjoy poetry, sunsets, and long walks on the beach!_

Carrie read it back over and then immediately deleted everything. "No I don't," she mumbled. "And no one would ever want to date all those exclamation points."

 _Hi! My name is Carrie, I have a useless film degree from Gotham State, but I am a pretty talented photographer, so if you're conceited and want me to take some pretentious photos of you walking on the beach at sunset or whatever, I'm your gal._

Carrie groaned as she read it back. "This is so stupid."

Regardless, she decided to move on.

 _Looking for…_

Carrie stared down at the three options the app provided: 'Men', 'Women' or 'Men and Women'.

Her finger hovered over the 'Men' option for some time before she removed it, setting her phone down on the desk in front of her.

She hated this, being almost 30 years old and still…unsure. Still confused. It made her angry, actually, and Carrie never got angry. But this, sitting here, alone on the eve of her birthday— _again_ …stupid. It was just stupid.

Anthony would come over, sure. And Bruce would be there, and Selina, and Barbara and Dick, Damian would begrudgingly put on a party hat and Harley would probably be there too…and Jo—she would attempt to bake a cake, and it would turn out dry because she would get distracted, and then Bruce would order one to replace it but Carrie would eat Jo's anyway because she'd tried. She'd fail, but she'd try, and Carrie liked that she tried for her.

But then she'd blow out the candles and be 30 and confused. Not 29. And that…sucked.

Carrie had a picture in her mind of the person she'd end up with. They'd be…funny, and smart, and maybe a little mean, but like in a teasing way—that was just the sense of humor Carrie was used to by now. They'd be…well, they'd have to be athletic—or active, at least. Carrie wanted someone who could keep up with her. She knew she was, at times, annoyingly energetic. Preferably they'd be very pretty—or handsome! Or handsome, or handsome. And they'd be taller than her, and sort of…effortless about everything. Like they could dress up if they wanted to, but also look great just…at the gym or—

Carrie jumped when her phone rang on the desk, that picture of Jo with her nose crinkled and her tongue sticking out at the camera popping up onscreen.

The redhead cleared her throat, running a hand through her short hair as she picked the phone up before answering.

 _"_ _Ayye, pretty lady,"_ Jo greeted immediately, before Carrie even had a chance to say hello. _"What'cha up to?"_

Carrie considered the sad online dating profile she was putting together. _About to look for cats to adopt in my area?_ "Uh, nothin' much. Why? Are you—,"

Faintly, the chorus of Peter Gabriel's 'In Your Eyes' began to waft through her open window.

 _"—_ _Outside your fucking window?! You bet I am!"_

She could hear Jo's grin through the phone as she went to her widow and pulled up the blinds to find that—yes—Jo was in the driveway, hanging out the driver's side window of her Mother's wheelchair van, and yes, she was—indeed—grinning.

"Are you gonna make me watch Cocoon?" Carrie asked, smirking.

 _"_ _Only if you teach me how to drive,"_ Jo countered. _"Wait—am I Lloyd or Diane? Damn it, I'm Lloyd. My bad. Whatever, hey, get your ass in the van, Ma and I are going to IKEA and we need another set of hands."_

Carrie glanced down at her sweatpants and t-shirt. "Uh—OK, fine, but I have to change."

 _"_ _Is there fabric covering your panties, Care Bear?"_

"Umm…yeah?"

 _"_ _Good enough,"_ Jo said before abruptly hanging up.

With a smile, Carrie got up, swapping her sweatpants for a pair of jeans and pulling a varsity jacket over her t-shirt.

She then began the arduous process of navigating Wayne Manor's expansive and convoluted layout in search of the door. Carrie had lived there since she was 12 years old and still somehow managed to get herself lost about once a month or so. But today she made it to the front door in record time.

"Jinkies, Daph!" Carrie exclaimed as she walked down the driveway. "Where's the rest of the gang?"

Jo looked down at her purple shirt and then the blue van she was driving. "Jeepers," she exhaled, waiting for Carrie to climb into the passenger seat to say: "Now I kinda want you to change into a turtleneck…"

Carrie snickered. "Did you download Peter Gabriel just for me?"

"Yeah, well, couldn't find a boom box," Jo said, sounding almost disappointed with herself. "I know you love that John Hughes shit."

Carrie smiled, turning to look in the back. "Afternoon, Dr. Q."

"New glasses?" Harley asked from where her wheelchair was strapped to the floor.

"Carrie's a huge Rachel Maddow fan, Ma," Jo winked, pulling out of the driveway.

"Hey, who isn't?" Harley's question was rhetorical and she offered a kindhearted smile, which Carrie gratefully returned before pulling her attention back to the front seat.

"What are we doing at IKEA?" she asked.

Jo sighed. "Buying everything in triplicate. Thank God we're rich as shit."

Carrie didn't try to hide her surprise. "You're keeping them all?"

Groaning, Jo said: "Please don't remind me. Damian insisted on naming the boy 'Terrence' and obviously that's not going to work as the name of my only fucking child. I mean—Terry's kinda cute, so fine, but then he said I could name the girl but the idea of aborting one of them was just, like…I don't know, felt like too much of a dick move. So yeah—Jolene I. Quinzel, cause of death: suffocated beneath her mass of children at the age of 25."

"Remember when I suggested you get a dog?" Harley asked. "you should have gotten a dog."

"Yes, thank you, Mother, for your undying love and support," Jo dryly retorted. "Long story short, you ready to be a Godmother, Care Bear?"

"I…I guess," Carrie mumbled. She'd never—not in a million years—thought Jo would go through with this whole thing. She'd honestly assumed she and Damian would end up childless like Babs and Dick. Not that she didn't think Jo had the ability to be a good Mom, no…that was in there somewhere, but this was all moving rather fast. Seemed like not too long ago Jo was putting on her Batgirl suit for the first time, pissing Damian off by managing to push every one of his buttons. Now they were married, they were having children, and it—well, Carrie supposed it would take some getting used to. In the meantime, though, her stomach had tied itself into knots and she wasn't totally sure why.

"—and I already bought the overalls, so don't worry about that."

Carrie blinked, realizing Jo was talking again.

"So whaddya say?" Jo prompted, grinning. "You in?"

 _What?_ "For IKEA? Well, yeah…I'm already in the car."

"For the 80s painting montage," Harley helped her out.

"Hey now," Jo laughed. "We're not married; you don't get to ignore me—I have a husband for that."

"Sorry," Carrie apologized, her face hot. "An 80s what?"

"Painting montage," Jo informed her. "We're gonna paint the nursery in overalls while listening to 80s music because I got an entire 5 hours of sleep, don't have to get on a plane or cut a single ribbon today…and Damian's at work so I can do whatever stupid shit suits my fancy."

Harley raised her fist in the air. "Housewives revolt!"

"Hell yeah," Jo agreed, reaching back to give her Mom a first-bump. "And don't worry, Carrie—work wives totally count."

"I—thanks," Carrie smiled softly. She liked feeling included, and Dr. Q had always made it a point to help her feel comfortable and at home when she was around them. Everybody: Anthony, Jo, even Dr. Isley. Not that Carrie didn't love her real family—meaning Bruce and Selina and Damian and the rest of em'. They were the best! But Dr. Q was like that cool aunt everyone secretly wished was their Mom instead. She gave away hugs for free—just because! Selina hugged sometimes too, but only when she knew Carrie really needed it. Which was fine, really, but…Dr. Q's hugs were the best. And she made everyone so happy. Like Dr. Isley. She was sorta…prickly, but a few times growing up Carrie had overheard conversations only meant for she and her wife and they just…made her happy.

Jo and Anthony were the same way. They could make people happy with just a smile or a touch or a chuckle…they were magic. The way they talked, the way they…were. Anthony was smart, but never made you feel stupid, and Jo was…well, her voice sounded like Pamela's. Smooth and velvety…but she spoke with Harley's cadence, so everything came out in an excited frenzy. Her mind worked quickly, like Damian's did. Carrie used to like listening to them talk to each other back when it was just teasing…until every conversation ended in a lip bite and a crooked finger…or worse, a suddenly passionate make-out session. Carrie tended to just awkwardly slink away once those started.

"Why do you even know this song?" Harley was laughing. "You were born in 2013."

"Because it's been used by every writer ever to hammer home the most obvious point possible—or it will be by this one, at least," Jo turned the radio up, singing along: _"You know I feel so dirty when they start talkin' cute / I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably mute."_ Stopping at a red light, she pulled her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose, dramatically tossing her hair as she turned to Carrie. _"And she's watchin' him with those eyes / and she's lovin' him with that body I just know it."_

"I wonder if they have this song in alternate universes." Harley remarked.

 _"_ _Where can I find a woman like that?"_ Jo turned the radio down again. "Why?"

"Because I want to change the lyrics to 'Joker's girl' and send it to all the sad Ivy's out there," Harley chuckled.

Carrie attempted to shake off the blush in her cheeks to say: "What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's, uh—so evidently there are other worlds and universes out there where different versions of us exist," Jo explained the joke after laughing at it. "And in more than a few the Mistress of Malpractice back there is fucking The Joker with Poison Ivy as her side chick."

"W—what?!" Carrie felt oddly offended on Dr. Isley's behalf. "The Joker? Wasn't he the psycho that paralyzed you?"

"Mhm, in this universe," Harley acknowledged. "In the other ones I guess Barbara is the one in the wheelchair."

"That's—no," Carrie shook her head. "God—why, Dr. Q?!"

Harley laughed. "Don't look at me! I can only control what happens in this universe. And really, I can't even do that—obviously," she gestured to her immobile legs.

Scandalized, Carrie turned back around, her eyes glazing over in thought as Jo pulled into the handi-cap parking spot.

"What about this one?" Harley asked some time later, pointing to the white crib on display in front of them. "It looks…safe."

"Mmm…" Jo narrowed her eyes critically. "No."

Harley had lost her patience four cribs ago. "Why?!"

Jo pointed at the area she was having issue with. "Butterflies. I don't like em. I don't want em painted on my kid's crib. Have you ever seen a close up picture of a butterfly's face, Ma? Shit will give you nightmares. I'm already probably gonna be a sub-par Mother anyway—don't need to add butterfly nightmares to their plates."

Harley scoffed. "Jo, they're cartoons!"

"Yeah, sure," Jo granted. "And like a lot of other things, the cartoon version is clearly the best. But in this context, I can't support it. I just can't."

"How about this one?" Carrie proposed. "Look, comes in different colors: red, green, pink, purple…that's cool, right? I mean, it'll help you tell em' apart in case they look too much alike."

"Ha! I love it," Jo laughed, leaning down to kiss Carrie on the cheek.

It was hard sometimes, for Carrie to explain what it felt like to be around Jo. You really had to share a space with her to completely understand, but when she looked at you it felt like…sunshine. And when she smiled at you, you'd have to force yourself not to reach for a camera. Her smiles were so…practiced, so pristine, her teeth so straight and so white. It was different than Harley's, Carrie noticed. She'd seen enough of Dr. Q's real smiles to know when she was faking it. It was pretty easy, actually. There was something a bit…unsettling about her feigned happiness. It was maniacal, in a way—the happiness painted on her lips but never reaching her eyes, their blue icy and cold…

But Jo…there was no way to tell the difference. Her eyes would light up just the same if she wanted to kiss you or stab you. Maybe that's why some people were scared of her. She had no tell, she was an actress, above all else—one like Poison Ivy, the difference being that Jo was never too proud to accept a role rather than establish it, and as a result, she was a more versatile performer.

To know Jo was to love her, and if you couldn't love her than your respect for her was still implied. She was King Midas—with a single brush of her skin or squeeze of your hand she could make anyone feel like gold. Feel seen, feel important.

It was a very special super power indeed, and Carrie knew she wasn't the only one effected. Damian—angry, angst-ridden, unpleasant, closed-off, closed-minded Damian Wayne was…different now. Jo had done that. She'd waltzed in and with a look, a smile and a touch he was her Damian. And that was just as well, Carrie decided. Damian had crafted wings in the form of walls to hide his heart, ones that melted only enough to make them transparent as he flew closer to the sun. Carrie didn't have any walls, she never did. She wasn't strong enough to make the journey. So she watched instead, from afar or from right beside her. Jo was her friend, and despite the deep blushes, sweaty palms, pangs of jealousy, or instinct to only stare at her lips as she spoke Carrie experienced at times like this—when they occupied the same space—that's all she would ever be. And that was…fine! That was good. Yes, when Carrie pictured that person she wanted to be with, it more often than not bore a striking resemblance to Jo…but it was a fantasy. That's all it would ever be and that's all Carrie would ever want it to be. Jo was her friend. She didn't have many friends, and female friendships felt extra special.

But there were other reasons too, like Carrie wasn't even gay!

…

…

OK, yeah, fine, Carrie was gay. And every single person in her life seemed to have realized that fact before her. And it wasn't like Carrie hadn't been exposed to the gay lifestyle or whatever—in fact, from her experience, it looked a whole helluva lot like the straight lifestyle. But it was like…Carrie didn't know how to _get_ there. Harleen and Pamela had been happily married for all the time she'd known them. With two kids and a big house and nice cars and perfect hair…they'd made it seem so simple, like you'd just know, like it just was what it was. But Carrie was struggling. Her parents…they'd neglected her, left her starving and to her own devices. They'd only had one room in that shitty apartment in Central Gotham, and her parents hadn't been…well, they hadn't been sh—she'd seen…even now it made her sick to her stomach.

But that was…that was what a relationship had looked like to her. Before Bruce and Selina, of course. They'd saved her, and they were—affectionate, yes, but also private, and after Steph died, Carrie was the only girl in the house (aside from Selina) and…it was confusing!

So maybe it wasn't just Jo Carrie was enamored with. Maybe it was the whole Quinzel family—their dynamic, their lifestyle, their…warmth.

"Carrie."

She blinked.

"Caroline," Harleen said, squeezing her hand in an attempt to get her attention. "Honey, are you crying?"

Carrie wiped her eyes with her free hand and found that, yeah, she was. Thank God Jo was nowhere around otherwise she would die of embarrassment.

"Are you OK?" Harleen asked.

Carrie looked down at the woman in the wheelchair—at a face she'd watched age before her very eyes. Slowly, yes, but Harleen was older now. There was no denying that, no hiding from it…Carrie had been starring at that same expectant expression from the couch in her office for 18 years now.

Shaking her head, Carrie said: "No."

…which seemed to surprise Harley. It must have been one of those rhetorical 'are you OKs?' that you were supposed to answer 'yes' to. But no, Carrie wasn't OK, and yeah—maybe they weren't in her office—but Dr. Q was still her therapist, right?

"No, I don't think I am OK, Dr. Q." Carrie admitted. "I feel like somebody pressed pause on my life, but time's still going by. I'm 30 tomorrow, but if somebody told me I was turning 20 instead I wouldn't even question it."

Harleen nodded slowly. "Who do you think pressed pause?"

Carrie shrugged. "Me, I guess. I'm in a—suspended state of adolescence."

Harleen laughed. "I like that. If you want to binge some _Arrested Development_ , we've got the whole series at home." She squeezed Carrie's hand again, her expression changing to sincerer as she said: "the best way to move forward is to clear your path, Kiddo."

"How?"

"Mmm…I suggest dynamite," Harley winked.

Carrie smiled at that, a small weight lifting off of her chest.

"Some help you guys are," Jo was coming back up the aisle, carrying a large box on her shoulder. "The fact that this fucking store hasn't gone digital is just…it's 2038!" she dropped the box with a loud _thunk_. "What's the holdup?!"

"JOLENE QUINZEL!"

Jo and Carrie whipped around to face the sound…finding a blonde woman smiling broadly at the other end of the aisle.

"Should I say it louder for the people in the back?" the woman asked, playfully arching an eyebrow.

"Holy shit," Jo nearly doubled over laughing. "Olympic Silver Medalist Courtney Whitmore?! Can you sign my tape?"

Courtney grinned as she approached them. "Make fun of me all you want, that tape is framed on my wall right next to my medal."

Jo chuckled, pulling her into a hug. "That's far too kind."

"Well, I wouldn't have been there in the first place if you hadn't…" Courtney trailed off awkwardly, realizing too late what she was saying.

"Been diagnosed with cancer?" Jo smirked. "Yeah, hey, lucky you."

"Did you—uh—get my flowers?" Courtney asked, blushing the same way that Carrie did around Jo. "I sent them as soon as I heard…"

"Well, that was 10 years ago," Jo smiled, patting her on the shoulder. "But I'm sure I did. My bad if I didn't send a thank you card, I had a lot of self-pity to wallow in back then. Anyway, you look great."

Courtney glanced down at her shoes. "Yes, well, I—I saw you got married—meaning it, uh, it suits you. You look all grown up. I see you in magazines sometimes…"

"It's all Photoshop," Jo assured her. "But I'm being rude. Courtney, this is my Mother—Harleen, and my cousin, Carrie. Guys, this is Courtney. She took my spot on the Olympic team, remember?"

"And made out with you in the hallway," Harley added.

"That too," Jo laughed.

Carrie knew it was her turn to respond, but her throat felt like she'd been wandering around in the desert for a week it was so dry, and she was sure her blush was so severe at this point they were likely having a hard time discerning her face from her hair. "H—hi," she eventually managed to sputter out.

Jo raised an eyebrow at Carrie's odd behavior, but chose to move on. "So what brings you to this hell-hole?"

Courtney shifted uncomfortably. "I relocated here a while back, but my, umm…housing situation changed recently," she admitted. "I'm in need of new furnishings."

"Mhm…" Jo's eyes were narrowed suspiciously. "Well I sincerely hope _you_ broke up with _her_."

The blonde cleared her throat. "I did not."

"Then she's an idiot," Carrie said quickly…out loud. _Fuck! No!_ The others turned to her surprised, and Carrie was desperate to recover. "I just mean…you're…very pretty and—you know—an Olympian and stuff…"

"Smooth," Jo laughed. "Well, I'd love to catch up further, but I've got a meeting in a bit. Actually, though, we're having a party tomorrow at Wayne Manor—more a family get-together, really. Carrie's turning 30," she squeezed the redhead's shoulders. "You should come! It should just be me, my brother and sister, my Mother, Carrie, her parents and her bother—I'm sorry, I mean my husband," Jo laughed. "That's an odd way to refer to him. I mean, it's true, but still…"

Courtney looked somewhere between surprised and excited. "I—yes! I'd love to come."

"Awesome," Jo smiled. "I left my phone at home, unfortunately, so you should probably give Carrie your number. She'll text you the details."

 **Author's note: if any of you are confused because you remember the gymnast's name from ch. 38 being "Mandy"...it was meant to be Courtney to begin with, but I couldn't remember Stargirl's name, so I went back soon after that chapter was published to change it to "Courtney" when I remembered. My bad**.


	64. Chapter 64

Jo slammed around the corner, letting off the gas until halfway through her turn where she then accelerated off of the side street. "Any chance you can predict their route?"

 _"_ _They don't seem to know where they're going,"_ Carrie remarked.

"Fine," Jo swerved to avoid a pedestrian. "Remind me why Bruce made us take the guns off the car?"

 _"_ _You used them too liberally,"_ Carrie reminded her. _"Best I can do is an—ah!"_ she squeaked, stopping mid-sentence.

"A what?" Jo switched gears, passing a car who thought it might be fun to try and drag race with the Batmobile. "What happened?"

 _"_ _Courtney sexted me!"_ Carrie nearly screamed, absolutely scandalized.

"Wait, really?" Jo giggled, realizing the car she was chasing had pretty impressive speed if it was still a block ahead of her. "What is it? Top? Bottom? Tasteful or uncensored?"

 _"_ _Umm…it's uh—top…and tasteful, I guess."_

Jo narrowed her eyes within her cowl, turning a quick left towards the canal, knowing she'd intercept them eventually if they tried to lose her down there, which seemed the most likely option. "One nipple or two?"

 _"_ _One."_

"OK, well, you're going to have to raise the stakes then," Jo said matter-of-factly, smiling as taillights appeared up ahead of her.

 _"_ _You mean—like—send something back?"_

"No, Caroline, I mean go over there," Jo told her. "It's 2am. She wants the lady D, obviously. There is no heterosexual explanation for what's going on here."

Carrie could be heard choking into her headset.

 _"_ _She can't just leave work,"_ Damian's voice cut through the feed.

Jo accelerated once more, the car jumping as she left the pavement in favor or the wooden planks of the docks. "Her girlfriend sent a nipple, Damian! Of course she can!"

 _"_ _No, Jo! I can't—I don't even know how!"_ Carrie was stammering.

Jo was closing in quickly now, the Batmobile a superior all-terrain vehicle to the Ferrari she was chasing. "Don't know how to what?" Jo asked, setting the auto-pilot and opening the roof. "I thought these fuckers flew around on playing cards, by the way."

 _"_ _This car…"_ Carrie was typing. _"Appears to be stolen."_

Jo shot her grappling gun at the car and it broke through the roof, securing itself enough so that Jo could yank herself out of the Batmobile and onto the Ferrari's back window. "Is it oral you're worried about?"

 _"_ _Well, I mean—yeah! Have you ever seen a—they're—it's complicated!"_

Jo rolled her eyes, rolling on the car's roof to avoid a bullet ripping upwards through the metal. "Yes, Caroline. I've seen a vagina. I happen to have one, actually."

 _"_ _Yeah, but—you gotta—you know…there are a lot of moving parts!"_

"Fair point, fair point," Jo granted, armoring the left arm of her suit and sticking her finger in the bullet hole just in front of her face, attempting to pull enough of the metal back to plant a charge. "How about you practice on m—,"

 _"_ _No."_ Damian interrupted. _"What the hell, Jolene? That's my sister! Who says shit like that, honestly?"_

Carrie was choking again.

"Well, maybe if you went down on me more often I wouldn't have to outsource the job to—ha!" she shoved the charge in the hole she'd help make, looking for a place to bail before detonation…except they were still going at least 90mph…and that's when she realized it didn't look like the driver was planning to stop. "So this should be fun."

 _"_ _Jo, you know you're…"_

"Going swimming?" she prompted. "Yup." She switched her breather on, unhooking her right arm from where she'd tied it to the car as it launched off the dock and into the water.

Damian groaned, turning his plane around and heading towards the canal. He saw the car sinking, but not Jo or the driver, so he quickly landed on the dock near the Batmobile and turned his breather on as well, jumping in after them.

Visibility was low in the murky water, so he turned on the flashlight in his cowl, and was immediately greeted by the mangled remains of the driver who must have smashed through the windshield upon impact. His body was stuck there now, wedged through the broken glass, gaping lacerations littering his body.

The glowing green of Jo's mask caught his eye, and, like the car, she appeared to be sinking downwards. Jo physically couldn't get her bodyfat above about 15%, meaning buoyancy in a time like this was a pipe dream. Because she wasn't fighting for the surface, Damian was sure she was unconscious.

He swam quickly, grabbing her around the waist and dragging her upwards towards the streetlights. Throwing her over his shoulder to climb up the ladder and out of the water, he switched to bridal style before laying her gently down on the hood of the Batmobile.

"Jo," he said, keying in her mask's manual override to expose her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open slightly, so Damian opened his own mask and leaned forward to listen for her breathing—and was grabbed behind the head and pulled down into a kiss.

"Goddamn it," he angrily pushed her away as she giggled. "Fuck you. Seriously."

"Nah…I'll fuck _you_ , though," she grinned, sitting up. "Did you seriously think I couldn't swim? In what world would that make sense?"

 _"_ _Is she OK?"_ Carrie asked desperately.

"She's fine," Damian spat.

"Tssss," Jo hissed, swiping a hand at him like a cat claw. "Getting back to the task at hand, Care Bear, let her take the lead. Being a Wayne has been known to make up for some inadequacies in the bedroom. So remind her who's holding the checkbook, and enjoy yourself."

Damian closed his mask once more, angrily shaking his head and mumbling "I can't believe you" as he started towards the Batplane.

Jo watched him curiously. "…sorry, Carrie. I guess I have to go. Evidently Damian would like to quarrel domestically." She shut off her headset, closing her mask as well and following after him. "Hey, Dude, what's your deal?" Jo mentally ran through the past hour.

 _I solicited his sister…_

 _No, that's not it. Nothing really out of the ordinary there._

 _I lead him to believe I was gravely injured…_

 _Mmm…I mean, maybe?_

 _I insulted his bedroom performance…_

 _Yeah?_

 _…_ _no._

"That's not a funny fucking joke, Jolene. Not today."

 _Shit, it's not our anniversary, is it?_

 _No…that's not until May._

 _Is it his birthday?_

 _No…that's not until January._

"Umm…I guess I'm sorry?" Jo attempted. She wasn't exactly good at apologies to begin with. Especially when she didn't know what she was supposed to be apologizing for.

"You better grow the fuck up, Jo." He said, climbing into the cockpit. "And fast." The roof closed over him before she could respond.

"Uh—alright, thanks, Dad!" she said, flipping him the bird as he took off.

/

The process of shutting down the tanks was rather extensive. There was a cooling operation that needed to happen before the specimen could be removed, and working with three at once was rather stressful. Luckily Anthony was there to help. He was a quick learner and Pam trusted he would take care, as literal lives hung in the balance.

Harley watched nervously over Pam's shoulder, and although Selina was sitting off to the side, Pam could feel her eyes on her back as well. Bruce was standing in the corner, leaning against his cane for support and nursing a cup of coffee, and Karen sat sleepily beside him, Duke pulled onto her lap, dozing against her chest.

They heard the Batmobile before they saw it, and at that very moment, the roof opened as well and they all watched as the Batplane came to a soft landing. The Batmobile, on the other hand, screeched to a halt, Jo's mask retracting as soon as she jumped out of the driver's seat.

"Seriously? The silent treatment? Now who needs to grow up?" she asked, annoyance evident in her tone.

Damian flipped her off, stomping angrily up the stairs, and Jo looked like she was about to follow before she noticed the party of her loved ones down below the landing.

"Is this an intervention?" she asked, leaning over the railing. "Because now really isn't a good time. I'm all wet…and not in the fun way."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harley's voice echoed through the cave. "Jo, quit messing around. We're all excited to meet them."

"To meet them…" Jo repeated, seeming confused…before her eyes went wide with realization. "Oh fuck! It's the 21st. Fuck, fuck, fuck," she left the railing quickly, sprinting towards the stairs. "Damian, Babe, I'm—fuck! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sor…" her voice faded away as she left the cave in favor of the main house.

Harley frowned, turning to Pam. "What just happened?"

"Jolene is not a language I speak," Pam casually informed her, pulling the lever on the second tank to drain the manufactured amniotic fluid. "Only English, Latin and French, I'm afraid."

"She probably forgot today was the day," Karen remarked with a yawn, encouraging Duke to slide off her lap. "Only Jo could forget she's going to be a mother to triplets."

Anthony scoffed. "Come on, Karen. Even Jo isn't that inept."

"Raise your hand if you think Jo is that inept," Karen prompted.

Pam was the first to raise her hand, followed by Bruce and then Selina…then a tentative Harley and Duke, likely because it was what everyone else was doing.

Anthony shook his head, looking disappointed with all of them as he pulled the lever on the third tank just as Pam had the first and second.

They only had to wait another moment before Damian appeared once more at the base of the staircase—now in civilian clothes, Jo not far behind him.

"You think it's funny to joke about leaving me alone with three newborns?" He was asking, although the question sounded rhetorical. "You ever heard of The Boy Who Cried Wolf, Jo? Next time it might be worse than a concussion."

"Jesus, could you be any more dramatic?" Jo complained, following him down the flight of metal stairs to the lowest level where the lab equipment was housed. "It's like, the ittiest bittiest concussion. Seriously. The headache's already clearing up."

"That's not the point and you know it," Damian snapped, arriving to stand before the group of people who'd gathered. "My apologies," he addressed them. "My wife is a selfish imbecile."

"Uh—hey! A selfish imbecile with FEELINGS…occasionally," Jo corrected (and then amended). "But I _am_ sorry. Damian's right, I'm an idiot. This is…I'm just so happy you're all here. Really means a lot." Her smile was both nervous and excited, just like it should be.

…which helped Pam to breathe a sigh of relief. _She's met the bare minimum of an appropriate response to the situation. That's really all we can ask._

Damian's hands were clamped awkwardly to his sides, his face oddly stern.

"They haven't done anything wrong yet," Jo kindly reminded him in a whisper. "Maybe try a smile?"

It took a moment and what looked like considerable effort, but he did pull his mouth upwards at the corners just slightly—enough to pass for a smile…if the viewer was generous.

But that seemed to please Jo very much as she grinned wide enough for the both of them and took his hand in hers, wrenching it away from the tight grip he had on his own leg.

"Is Carrie coming?" Pam asked, surprised that she wasn't already there.

Jo cleared her throat. "Carrie is taking some much needed personal time. I'm sure she'll be happy to meet them when she gets back."

Pam just nodded, understanding enough to move on. She gestured to Selina, who handed her one of the three soft towels she was holding, and all Pam could think about in that moment was how—25 years ago—Selina had done the exact same thing, and Pam had pulled Jo out of the liquid. Her eyes had been so green and her skin so smooth…and Harley had been so happy. So happy to have a girl. A girl to follow in her footsteps. And Pam realized, in that moment, as she was about to hand her daughter her own child, that if given a chance, there was nothing about Jolene that she would change. Not a hair on her head. She remembered what a happy child Jo had been. Just…happy to be alive. Those kids were special. Those kids were rare. Those kids were…the ones that ended up like Pamela or Harleen…or Jolene…their paths hadn't been easy, nor were they ever meant to be—really—but it had been some time since any of them had allowed their struggles to eclipse their greatness.

And that's all Pamela could hope for Jo moving forward. That she performed to her potential. That she make the effort. They'd made more than a few mistakes with Jo. Pam (surprisingly) wasn't too proud to admit that. But they'd loved her, and they'd tried. Every day, they'd tried their best. And Jo was still here. Despite the turmoil, the anger, the arguments…Jo was still here. And in 25 years, Pam hoped Jo's daughter's would still be here too. Her son as well. She hoped she'd someday be wiping the fluid away from their children's mouths…handing her grandchildren crying bundles just as she had her children.

"Delilah…" Jo was smiling proudly down at the baby in her arms—blue eyed (for the moment) with lightly tanned skin, a few shades lighter than Damian's, but at least a shade darker than Jo's. "And…Daisy," she leaned over to kiss the nearly identical baby Selina was reverently holding in her arms. "You guys said it used to calm me down to play my song. Figured we need all the help we can get."

"Plain White T's, and…" Anthony narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Leon Bridges?"

"I'd hand you $100 if I knew you weren't just gonna spend it on action figures," Jo chuckled, turning her attention to Pam who was now holding the crying boy in her arms, suctioning the excess mucus from his lungs as gently as she could.

"That's Terry," Jo grinned. "Right, Babe?"

All eyes were on Damian now as he shifted uncomfortably in the corner, looking like he desperately wanted to avert his gaze.

"Would you like to hold him?" Pam asked, softening her tone at Damian's obvious trepidation. "You won't break him."

"You don't know that," was Damian's mumbled reply.

Jo looked him over, seeming to assess the situation, reading her husband's body language as best she could. Eventually, she lowered Delilah into Harley's arms and crossed to Pam, taking Terry from her.

With the baby in her arms, she said: "Maybe let's try sitting down first."

Karen took her cue, getting up immediately and clearing the space, taking Duke with her to watch the ordeal from a different vantage point.

Tentatively, never breaking eye contact with Jo, Damian came to occupy the seat Karen had abandoned, though there was still nothing relaxed about his body language.

Regardless, Jo closed the space between them with the baby in her arms, coming to kneel in front of him so her chest was level with his lap. Terry's cry suddenly turned desperate, but Jo kept up her calm and encouraging smile. "I think that means he wants to meet his Dad."

Slowly, Damian unfolded his arms, and Jo leaned forward, pressing the baby gently to his chest, and guiding Damian's hands to support the boy's head and rear.

Terrence looked the most like Damian in terms of complexion, and he already had dark patches of hair sprouting from his head. Like the girls, his eyes were also blue, meaning none of them had the same outward signs of plant heritage that Duke did. No…Terrence was a Wayne, that much was certain. Through and through, he was Damian's son. Though Pam could still see Jo—even now, this early. She could see her full lips and the round cheeks she'd now grown out of…

"Look at that," Jo grinned, cupping Damian's face in her hands. "You're a natural."

A natural he was not…but the smile he gave her in return—the terrified, genuine smile—told Pam he might just believe it.

Placebo confidence: The Jolene Quinzel effect.

But far better than Damian's smile was Bruce's. Bruce and Selina's.

Bruce moved forward, patting Damian both proudly and reassuringly on the shoulder. He'd made mistakes too, Pam realized. Plenty of them, with all the children he'd collected over the years. But he'd loved them. Pam could see that. Pam had always been able to see that. It came out gruff or sideways sometimes, but at the end of the day, Dick was just as much his child as Carrie was just as much his child and Tim was just as much his child as Damian was just as much his child as Stephanie had been his child. And now Bruce would be given the chance to see his son falter or excel just as Harley and Pam had—and just as they would.

And they were all here for it together—which sounded so...strange. Such a unique detour from anything Pam had planned. Batman, Poison Ivy, Catwoman, Batwoman, another Batman and another Batgirl.

 _What strange company I keep_ , Pam thought as a smile spread over her lips.

 **Author's note: couldn't bring myself to name them Delia and Deirdre, but you get the point**


	65. Chapter 65

Pam exhaled with discernable annoyance, rolling over to grab some reading material off the nightstand.

Harley thought she'd try to prop herself up on her elbow, before she decided it wasn't worth it, as Pam had already snuggly tucked her in and her pillow was fluffed just right. "What'cha reading?" she asked.

" _Botanical Journal of the Linnean Society_ ," Pam distractedly recited, flipping the page.

"Umm…why?"

"Because it's interesting," was Pam's curt response.

"Oh," Harley nodded subtly. "How about you read it out loud then? If it's interesting…"

" _You_ won't find it interesting."

"Try me," Harley steeled her resolve, looking over at Pam with determination. _Right here, right now, I will take interest in her interests._

Pam sighed again before lightly clearing her throat and starting mid passage: "The origin of flowers, for instance, ostensibly requires the concerted function of various MADS box transcription factor complexes, and the evolution of such transcription factors has been attributed to ancient (i.e. as a result of palaeopolyploidy) and recent gene-specific duplications, with subsequent subfunctionalization of paralogous gene copies."

"Oh my God," Harley snatched the journal away from her, throwing it off the bed and towards the door. "That was awful. I just aged another 10 years listening to that. Please don't ever read out loud again."

Pam rolled her eyes. "You know, I really hate it when you do that, Harleen. I really fucking hate it."

"Pamela, language!" Harley scolded. "Be honest: how many times have you read that article? Because I happen to know that journal's three months old."

Pam just shook her head, staring up at the ceiling. "She's not sleeping, Harley."

The blonde narrowed her eyes. "Are we…referring to ourselves in the third person now? Because…I'd really rather we didn't."

"They just cry all night long," Pam murmured, rolling onto her side away, from Harley. "There's too many of them. She's outnumbered. She wasn't ready."

"Oh, you're talking about Jo," Harley realized. "Hey, wait, are you spying on Jo?" she reached over to wave a hand in front of Pam's face. "Are you even here right now?"

The redhead pushed her hand away. "If she didn't want me to spy, she shouldn't have left the plant in their room."

"Pamela, that's ridiculous," Harley informed her—sincerely wishing she could sit up so her talking to came off sterner. "She has autonomy. She's a grown woman. Leave her alone."

"She's suffering, Harleen," Pam mumbled, delivering her words to the wall. "She's alone, and she's suffering, and you'll never understand to what degree."

"OK," Harley was preemptively defensive. "What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"Anthony was easy and you weren't there for Jo," Pam told her, plainly, like it was a fact rather than an argument.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" OK, now Harley _had_ to sit up. Pam turned at her exasperated grunting, automatically putting her hand behind her back to help her. "No, I don't think so," Harley slapped it away. "Say that shit to my face, Pamela."

"Anthony was an easy baby," Pam repeated, slower. "And you weren't there for Jo."

"I wasn't _there_ for Jo?" Harley's anger was mounting quickly. "Is that seriously how you remember it? I quit my fucking job for you. For us. I gave up my fucking career at 38 years old. You remember that little tid-bit, right? Or is your memory seriously that selective."

"No," Pam shook her head, considerably calmer than Harley at this point. "I remember that. I also remember you leaving me with the children every night to work for Bruce."

"Wh—," _the balls on this woman_. "I was doing my duty. Following through on my promises. Some feminist you are, guilt-tripping me for wanting to keep working. How dare you, actually. _Especially_ since you were gone all fucking day! That was the point of our trade! Sorry that Jo was more of a bitch at night. That's not my fault."

"Did I _ever_ , for a _second_ , claim that it was?" Pam wanted to know, heating up a bit. "What time is it, Harleen?" she pointed at the clock. "It's midnight. You would have been gone by now. Just like Damian is gone. That's the parallel I'm referencing. Though you are awfully defensive."

"I'm defensive because you're attacking me!"

"That's false. Absolutely. Categorically false," Pam pushed the blankets away to get out of bed. "I would never demonize you for working. _Never_. And the insinuation that I would is disgusting, frankly. Also," she was standing now. "Don't call me a bad feminist just because you're angry. There is nothing more important or integral to my identity than that ideology."

There were few things Harley disliked about her wife more than the woman's ability to say inflammatory statements with absolute emotional detachment…and then somehow turn it back around on Harley. "Where are you going?"

"To call Selina," Pam said, pulling on a bathrobe. "Cass, Carrie and Karen all agreed to cover for them so that both Damian and Jo could take parental leave. There's absolutely no reason for Damian not to be helping her right now—aside from cowardice, of course."

"Pam, stop. Jo's gotta learn how to take care of it on her own. You constantly intervening when she's struggling isn't helping anyone." Harley told her, her delivery matter-of-fact and more stable than the anger she displayed earlier.

Pam did stop…but it clearly wasn't for the reason Harley wanted. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harleen, are we in need of a refresher about the last time you encouraged me to let our daughter 'make her own mistakes'?"

"If you ever rebrand yourself, I suggest 'Condescension-Girl'."

"I had to go to her apartment and dispose of her boyfriend's remains," Pam reminded her. "The one whose head she smashed in with a crowbar."

"You know, I don't remember you spying on Anthony like this," Harley remarked.

"Because I _trust_ Anthony," Pam told her. "He's given me every reason to—for his entire existence. What incentive has Jolene ever provided us?"

"Maybe it's time to give her the benefit of the doubt," Harley suggested. "She loves those kids. Can't see her smashing their heads in with a crowbar. She's grown up a lot, Pam. And we gave her every tool she could ever want. All she needs to do is pick up the phone. Jo knows that. And speaking of that body—by the way—she didn't try to dispose of it herself. She called you. She comes home when she needs to and she's willing to admit when she's made a mistake. She's better at that than both of us. Don't call Selina, Babe," Harley softened. "Jo will land on her feet. It's what she's best at."

/

"Morning," Selina greeted over her coffee mug, her eyes glued to the news.

Jo didn't respond, just headed straight for the coffee pot.

"Amatuers," Selina muttered at the story about the attempted jewel heist downtown. "Never get old, Jolene," she sighed. "It'll take all the fun out of life. Stop you from doing things you love."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jo mumbled, setting her coffee mug harshly down on the table, spilling at least a quarter of it. "Fuckin', b—," she snatched the kitchen towel from in front of Selina and sopped up the mess before tossing it aside and then full on slamming her head down on the table.

"Oh my God!" Selina jumped in surprise. "Jo, are you OK?"

The younger woman raised her head once more, wearing an oddly placid smile. "Super duper, Trooper!"

"You look terrible," Selina realized.

"Ha, that's so funny. I feel like terrible too, hm…" she looked wistfully out the window. "Crazy how that works."

Selina was studying her closer now, moving from intrigued to concerned. "You've lost weight."

"Mm," Jo acknowledged, drinking her coffee black. "Turns out being a single parent to triplets is a real calorie burner."

"Jolene, you're…not a single parent," Selina reminded her, an eyebrow arched. "You're married to Damian."

"Oh, am I?" Jo laughed, humorlessly. "So where is he, then?" she raised her arms, gesturing to the greater kitchen. "Did he get his hands on a fucking invisibility cloak? Because I don't see him."

"Is he…not in bed?" Now Selina was confused. She could have sworn she'd heard him come home last night.

"Nope," Jo revealed, essentially gulping her coffee at this point. "Hasn't been for the last week. Came home for lunch yesterday, spent a combined 8 minutes with the kids, 6 of which he devoted to Terry. Then he left. He had to check on something at the office or whatever. Asshole," she muttered, getting up to pour herself another cup. "You think adding some weed killer to this would mimic the effects of alcohol?"

"Jolene, you need to eat something," Selina told her, getting up as well and following her back to the counter. "I'm serious. You've got some nice cheekbones, Kid, but you're looking downright gaunt. And when was the last time you were outside? Why are you so pale? Don't plants need sunlight?"

"Appreciate your concern," Jo replied distractedly, crossing the kitchen to the fridge where she pulled out three bottles full of the growth formula Pam provided. "God, I still have nightmares about this shit. Tastes like cough medicine on steroids with a dirt chaser."

"Jo, the kids can wait," Selina grabbed a muffin from the plate on the counter, holding it out to her. "Eat this. Before you feed them. Please."

"Uh, no thanks. I already have a Mom, Selina," Jo informed her. "Two, actually. I get that you're—mmpff!"

"Yeah, I don't feel like tap dancing, Kiddo," Selina said after shoving the muffin roughly into her mouth. "You're going to eat the carbohydrates and you're going to enjoy them. Then I'm going to take the kids to your parents', you're going to take a shower, and you're going to talk to your husband because this…" she gestured to Jo's strung-out aesthetic. "Isn't a good look for you."

Jo squinted, running a hand through her greasy hair, her mouth still half full. "This isn't doing it for ya?"

"No," Selina handed her the muffin. "So how about me and you end that complacent father trope, huh? We both know Damian's just a little boy with mommy issues behind that chiseled jawline—just like Bruce. And you're a sarcastic bitch with a heart of gold—like me."

"So…" Jo swallowed a mouthful of muffin. "What are you, imparting wisdom or something?"

"That's what old women do, isn't it?"

"Can I buy you a rocking chair?"

"Fuck no."

/

Hair washed, makeup applied, and dressed in a tight skirt and a nice blouse, Jo headed for the office…in Damian's most expensive car because fuck him.

The bright afternoon sun hurt her eyes, and her grip on the wheel felt weak, but she was determined. Selina was right. This was unacceptable.

 _Leaving me at home with three fucking kids like I'm some sorta…woman who isn't me. I'm Poison Ivy's goddamn daughter. I don't have to take this shit. Trapped in that room, pacing the fucking floor, crying, talking to myself—not whispering, full on fricken talking. Bitch, I don't belong in Arkham. That shit's on him._

 _You're my best friend, Jolene. Marry me, Jolene. Let's have kids, Jolene. I'm not about to repeat my parents' mistakes, Jolene._

 _Bullshit. Fucking men, I swear to God._

 _I'm Jolene Quinzel!_

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Wayne," the security guard at the front gate greeted.

 _Fine, I'm Jolene Wayne, but that will never not sound stupid._

"Good afternoon, Reggie," Jo smiled back, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. "Just bringing my husband lunch," she held up the paper bag from the passenger seat.

"You're a good woman, Mrs. Wayne," he remarked as he opened the gate for her.

"Aww, I really am, aren't I?" she moved her sunglasses back into place and sped into Wayne Enterprise's private lot, taking one of Damian's two reserved spots and heading immediately for the elevators, clutching the paper bag in her hand.

"Jolene!" Luke greeted almost immediately upon the elevator opening at the top floor.

"My gosh," she put a hand over her heart. "Luke Fox himself? And here I thought I'd have to talk my way past a secretary."

"Nah, we pull out all the stops for you," he chuckled warmly. "Reggie told me you were heading up; thought I'd say hello."

"Well it's great to see you," she smiled. "How's Tiffany?"

"A straight-A student this semester, if you can believe it."

"Ah, I sure can," Jo assured him, maintaining her good-natured expression while she changed the subject: "Say, you wouldn't happen to know where my husband is, would you? I got a baby sitter and—,"

"Right! How are the kids?" Luke interrupted to ask, his muscular form planted firmly in front of her. "Three, that must be a handful. Got any pictures?"

"Oof…" her smile turned a little crueler as realization dawned. "You were doing so well, Luke! But I'm not an idiot, Sweetheart. No one asks to see baby pictures. Looking at photos of other people's children is a civic duty we all perform to maintain social connections, unless the kid is—I don't know—wearing a sombrero and a fake mustache or cuddling with a puppy, which mine are not. I'm going to guess Damian was also made aware of my arrival, and because he's been avoiding me for some time now, sent you out to intercept me."

"Ha—well, Jo, see…" Luke was attempting to stay in character…but it was a poor attempt.

"You'll get em next time, Tiger," she pat him sympathetically on the arm. "Now where can I find the Cowardly Lion? In his office? Or is he in a ' _meeting_ '."

"He's absolutely swamped Jo," Luke said with his mouth…while subtly gesturing to the glass walled office behind him…where Damian had rolled his chair into the furthest corner.

"Ah, thank you," she said. "I'm going to angrily brush past you now so he knows you tried your best. Always great to see you. Come to dinner sometime, meet the kids in person."

"I'll have to take you up on that," he smiled as—true to her word—she pushed passed him, making a b-line for Damian's office.

"Didn't Luke tell you I was busy?" Damian asked once the door had swung shut behind her.

"Nice try, asshole," she said, wearing an expression that didn't match her words in the slightest. An expression that would communicate happiness to the onlookers who could plainly see them through the clear walls of the office. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Damian glanced outside, catching his receptionist's eye, who was pretending not to be watching. "Did you actually bring me lunch?"

"Yep," Jo smiled, setting the bag down on his desk. "It's a steak. Kobe beef. Medium rare…and I slathered it in ketchup."

"You what?" Damian gritted, attempting to mask his horror.

"I put ketchup on a $75 steak," Jo reiterated, taking the container out of the bag and pulling back the lid so that he could witness the carnage. "And I would very much like you to eat it…in front of me. Right now, preferably."

"I'm not going to—,"

Jo leaned over the desk. "Eat the fucking steak, Damian. It's your penance for promising me we'd enter this stage of our lives together…and then immediately abandoning me. So, how about you take your punishment like a man, huh?" she slid him the utensils she'd brought for him—all plastic.

"I didn't abandon you," he mumbled, grabbing the knife and fork from her. "I had to come back to work."

"No you didn't," she managed to snap at him, while somehow maintaining her warm smile. "You told me we'd have 8 weeks for it to just be the five of us. It's only been 6, and you've been gone for the last three. Completely MIA."

Damian cringed as he took his first bite, chewing as quickly as he could and then swallowing it down. "They needed me here."

"No—I need you," she sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "At home. With the three fucking infants we now get to call ours. Oh joy!"

"I thought you liked the kids."

"You thought I—," Jo was actually taken aback. "Of course I like the kids, Idiot. They're my kids. I love the kids. But that doesn't mean you can just leave me alone to do the woman's work or whatever. I agreed to this because I was under the impression that you were actually going to help out. My Mother is Poison Ivy, and she still managed to make time to co-parent with her wife. Why. Aren't. You. At. Home?"

Damian cleared his throat, sitting back away from the steak, but starring at it none-the-less. "They…cry, when I hold them. They always cry. Especially the girls—especially Delilah. They…you're better at it. They want you."

It took a moment for Jo to respond, as she hadn't expected him to get vulnerable this quickly. "Well…" she began. "I don't really care what they want, honestly. They're 6 weeks old." She reminded him. "Can I tell you the truth?"

"About what?"

"About me," Jo prefaced. "Damian, I'm not…I'm not sleeping. I'm not eating. I'm not…stable. I am overworked, overstressed, and I snap, Damian. I've been known to snap. And _when_ I snap, I do things I regret. I don't feel comfortable being left alone with the kids in continually stressful situations."

Damian didn't reply, just swallowed, so Jo continued.

"This isn't a cry for help. This is me sitting here, in front of my husband, telling him that he needs to come home." Her peppy demeanor was beginning to droop. "I can't do the single parent thing. I'm just not built for it. And right now, I'm only 6 weeks in and barely hanging on. The kids need their Father," she told them. "Not a nanny, and not me when I'm like this—when I'm unpredictable. Don't be an absent parent," she pleaded. "This is exactly the kind of shit that I was worried about you repeating. You _have_ to do better. You have to be there for me, and you have to be there for the kids or else I'm going to move back in with my parents. That's not a threat, and I'm not saying that because I don't love you—I do, Damian. I really fucking do—it's just the reality of the situation. I can't do this alone. So you need to step up, or we need to make a different arrangement."

"What? No! You can't just leave." Damian was suddenly desperate—angry, those abandonment issues rearing their ugly head. "You can't just…just pack up and leave because we're fighting. That's—that's ridiculous! Ridiculous and immature."

"Damian," Jo sat forward, tears gathering in her eyes despite herself. "Please. I'm trying to be better and do better, but it's like everyone keeps shoveling sand on top of me. I can't breathe and I'm overwhelmed and I'm suffocating and I hate my life and I hate the kids and I hate you right now, honestly. And that's not right. That's not what a Mother is supposed to be. That's not what my parents were, and I still turned out like this."

"You just said you loved them and you loved me," Damian's throat was full of the emotion he couldn't express with words. "Stop contradicting yourself."

Jo got up from her chair, smoothing down the lines in her skirt. "I really hope I see you at home tonight." Then she cleared her throat. "Enjoy your steak."


	66. Chapter 66

Pamela fastened the mandarin collar on her jacket, wrapped her hair up in a high bun and descended the stairs for the third time that morning, checking her watch with each step.

Harley had been unduly stubborn with their morning routine, hanging like a dead weight when Pam moved her from her chair to the shower, refusing to let Pam touch her hair, being indecisive with her outfit…it had been exhausting—and honestly reminded her a lot of having to rally Jo and Anthony for school when they were little—and now Pam was late.

"Harl, have you seen my keys?" Pam asked after not finding them in their usual place on the table near the front door.

"Nope." Harley answered plainly from where she was grazing on a bowl of cereal in the kitchen

After a few more moments of searching and coming up empty, Pam looked over at Harley…where she immediately located the keys as they were sitting right in front of Harley on the counter.

"Honey, they're right there," Pam pointed.

"Oh?" Harley prompted rhetorically, making no moves to help Pam get out the door any faster.

"Ah, yes," Pam acknowledged, snatching the keys off the counter. "I see. You're still upset with me over our disagreement last night and you're passive aggressively punishing me by methods of extreme unhelpfulness."

Harley smiled condescendingly. "You know me so well."

"Should I attempt a kiss goodbye or will you just turn your face away?"

Harley leaned over her chair, offering her cheek…but made a pointed evasive maneuver just before Pam's lips made contact.

Pam rolled her eyes, shaking her head and grabbing her purse. "I should be back around 5 or so. Call Anthony if you need anything." But just as Pam was reaching for the door handle, the bell rang, startling her rather severely. It was only 8:30 in the morning. Who rang doorbells at 8:30 in the morning?

Going through her mental list, Jo was fairly close to the top, so it wasn't terribly surprising to see her standing there on the front porch, her children strapped into a stroller.

"Shit," something like realization dawned on the younger woman's face. "I'm sorry, I should'a called. You're headed to work."

"I am," Pam confirmed, as Harley yelled "Who is it?" from inside. "It's Jo!" Pam shouted behind her before stepping outside and closing the door. "What are you doing here?" she didn't mean to sound unkind, she was just late.

"I'm…well—I'd like to sleep," Jo admitted. "I don't…get to sleep anymore and, umm—my body hurts?"

Pam was confused. "You want to sleep here?"

"I—yeah," Jo nodded. "I—," Pam honestly wasn't sure if her daughter's voice was raspy from crying or exhaustion, but she didn't exactly look _well_. "I asked Damian to make a choice and to come home and he—he didn't choose me and now it's like my chest hurts, and I'm so angry and I just—I'm tired."

"He didn't choose you?" Pam asked for clarification.

But Jo just shook her head, her bottom lip quivering and her words coming out in a strangled whisper. "I chose him, Mom. I—look," she indicated her children. "He wanted them. Remember? He wanted them. And then he made me all these promises and said we'd do it together and he'd be there for me and for them and then—," she wiped her eyes, which had begun to fill with tears. "He didn't come home."

Pam nodded slowly, the picture beginning to come into focus. With a tentative step, she moved forward, cupping Jo's face in her hands before wrapping an arm around the back of her neck and pulling her into a hug.

Jo braced against the contact at first, her body rigid, like the touch of another person was somehow foreign. Pam understood that better than anyone, and she could feel Jo's heart beating against her chest as she held her close.

Pam felt the shoulder of her jacket become wet where Jo was resting her head, and as the small tremors of silent sobs vibrated through her body, finally she returned Pam's embrace, gripping her far tighter than Pam was holding her.

"I'll call Anthony," Pam told her, her tone gentle. "And he and your Mother will watch the children while you get some rest. And Jolene?" she separated so that she could look her daughter in the eyes once more, their green glistening like moss-covered river rocks below the surface of a lagging stream. "Asking for help makes you a good Mother, not a bad one."

"No, I—I hate em' sometimes, Mom," Jo cried.

"Oh, Darling," Pam chuckled, running a hand lovingly through her daughter's hair. "I hate you to this very day."

"Yeah, yeah," Jo smiled through her tears, sloppily wiping her eyes. "I'm the worst, I already know."

"No," Pam shook her head. "You, Jolene, are just about my favorite thing on the planet. And, honestly, it's perfect that you came. Your Mother is extremely cross with me at the moment, and nothing brightens her day like getting to see her grandkids. Really, you're doing me a favor."

/

Damian trudged into the shuttle, feeling like his feet were dried into cinderblocks, each step heavier than the last.

He just…he needed to be here. He needed to be Batman. Batman was easy. Batman made sense. He was good at being Batman—exceptional, even. Just as he'd been an exceptional Robin. The rules were easy to follow, and he'd been given the tools to succeed.

Being Damian…being _just_ a man…without the mask—without the authority and the respect that was guaranteed to you when you wore it…that was hard. Hard enough to be accountable just to himself, let alone another person. Let alone four other people.

Suddenly, Damian was stumbling backwards, a strong slap having landed solidly across his face. And then hands were fisting in his shirt and he was being slammed against the body of the shuttle.

…which would have been erotic if it were Jo in front of him rather than Poison Ivy.

"Get your shit together, you stupid fuck." She spat. "Just once, would it kill a man to prove me wrong?" then she literally spat…down on his shoe, and her saliva quickly ate through the leather, leaving a smoking hole through which he could see the toe of his sock.

/

Jo blinked her eyes open as she sat up, her Simone Biles poster the first thing that came into focus, followed by the cactus she kept on her nightstand, and her medals, which quietly clinked against the wall where they hung thanks to the light breeze whispering through the open window.

 _I'm late for school_ , was all Jo could think, observing what looked like the light of early morning seeping into her bedroom. _Jason should be here to pick me up. I don't want Mom to see Jason._

It wasn't until she rubbed her eyes and felt the metal of her wedding ring against her skin that she was transported back to reality.

"He's dead," Jo mumbled aloud to herself.

She thought back to that time almost fondly now, when her Mom chastising her for her shitty boyfriend was her biggest problem.

Now her Mom got to chastise her for her shitty husband, and it wasn't her plant DNA keeping her from doing what she loved, it was her— _wait, why is it so quiet? Where the fuck are my kids?_

Pulling the blankets back, Jo found she was still fully clothed—complete with shoes and all. _Yeah, I'm a wreck._

She stumbled as she took her first steps, feeling lightheaded and disoriented. _If this is how a hangover feels, then fuck that_. Steadying herself on her old dresser, she was able to get her feet under her and eventually headed for the stairs.

The first thing Jo noticed was that all the lights were on—meaning maybe it wasn't morning at all. In fact, it made a lot more sense that it would be evening. She didn't know where her phone was so she couldn't check to make sure, but if she'd arrived here in the morning, she sincerely hoped she'd only slept through the day rather than through the night as well.

"Yahtzee!" Harley's voice carried up the stairs, and Jo heard something like a grunt of frustration come from Pam.

She peaked her head around the corner to find them in the living room, Harley, Pam and Anthony gathered around the table playing, well…Yahtzee.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Anthony greeted, glancing up briefly from his scorecard. "Now we know where your kids get it, I guess."

Jo looked around confusedly. "What—umm—what time is it? Where are the—,"

"Children?" Pam prompted.

"They're asleep," Harley answered, proudly marking down her score and sliding the dice to Anthony.

"But they…No—they don't sleep," Jo told them, bewildered. "Only Daisy sleeps."

"I guess we got lucky," Anthony shrugged, shaking the dice in his hand before letting them spill out over the table. "Uh—ha!" he stood up excitedly from his chair after determining his score. "Large straight, Bitch!"

"Don't call your Mother a bitch," Pam calmly requested, ready to take her turn.

Even through his green skin, Anthony's face turned bright red. "No I—Ma, I just got excited, I meant it as an exclamation, not a pejorative—,"

Laughing, Harley grabbed him by the arm, pulling back down into his chair. "I'll be calling you a lot worse once I win."

Pam glanced back at Jo, who was still standing awkwardly just inside the living room. "Sweetheart, if you're nervous, you can go check on them. Though I can see everything that's going on in that room, and I can assure you they're all fast asleep."

"You hungry?" Anthony prompted. "I made dinner."

"He burned dinner," Pam corrected.

"It was still edible," he grumbled. "Lilah was being cute. I got distracted."

Harley snorted. "Clearly."

"Oh, knock it off," Anthony rose from his chair once more, heading for the kitchen. "It's lasagna. Better if the top is a little crispy anyway."

"I l—I love lasagna," Jo realized as Anthony walked past her.

"Yeah, no shit," Anthony laughed. "Thought you'd be awake in time for dinner."

 _They never answered my question_. "What time is it?" she asked again, directing her question at her parents as her brother had left the room.

"Umm…" Harley checked the clock on her phone. "Almost 8. We're old. We eat dinner at like 5 now."

Anthony reentered then, carrying a plate full of food, which he used to motion towards the table in a silent suggestion that she sit down.

Jo gingerly obeyed, taking the vacant seat where her food was then placed in front of her, Anthony sitting back down to join them in the next moment. She stared down at her plate, realizing—maybe for the first time since the triplets had been born—just how hungry she was. "Where's Duke?" she asked her brother as she picked up the fork he'd provided.

"Training with Cass until 9," he answered.

"You're outsourcing?" Jo raised an eyebrow at Harley.

"Well, just for today," she smiled. "My hands were a little full."

 _I should have called._ "I'm sorry," Jo mumbled, taking her first bite. "Didn't mean to fuck up everybody's plans."

Anthony scoffed. "Jo, we got to hang out with a bunch of babies all day. You didn't ruin anyone's plans. I had the day off anyway."

"And Cass would'a beat the crap out of me even in my prime." Harley added. "Duke's learning from the best of the best."

" _And_ we got Mom to play Yahtzee with us," Anthony piggy-backed.

"It's a game of chance, not skill," Pam stated, crossing her arms defiantly. "I prefer a game that requires some degree of strategy."

"Right," Anthony nodded. "Because you're unlucky."

"And a loser," Harley added.

Jo let a smile slip at that. She appreciated they were being nice, acting somewhat normal around her, pretending it was all business as usual…Jo needed that, though she was also painfully aware of the elephant in the room.

…which went untouched and unmentioned throughout the rest of the evening. Even after Anthony left and Harley said goodnight and was carried up to bed. Even after Terry and Delilah woke up and Pam helped Jo to put them back down. Even after the lights had been turned out and Jo was once again left alone in a dark room.

 _Did my husband leave me?_

/

"You're home late," Selina remarked from her chair in the darkened kitchen, startling Damian into banging his shin on the cupboard.

Bruce flicked the light on…and it was becoming clearer with each passing moment that this was an ambush. "Evening, Son."

"Uh—Father?" Damian greeted awkwardly. "Can I help you?"

"You can answer some questions for us," Selina suggested. "Well, one, in particular."

Bruce leaned back against the counter, leaving his cane to stand upright so that he could cross his arms. "Where's Jo?"

"And the kids?" Selina seconded. "And what happened to your face?"

Damian brought his hand up to gingerly gauge the swelling around his eye, which evidently hadn't gone down much since this morning. "I'm fine."

"I didn't ask how you felt, I asked what happened," Selina pointed out. "And I'm honestly hoping the answer is 'Jo'."

"Ivy," Damian muttered, moving towards the freezer to grab himself an icepack…though his path was quickly obstructed by Bruce, who moved faster than he had in years to stand in his path.

"I asked you a question," Bruce said, his tone stern and none-too-kind.

 _Fucking Christ,_ Damian had to fight the urge to punch his Father in the face for the audacity to judge him as a husband and a parent. The man hardly had a leg to stand on. "She left."

" _Left_ left?" Selina asked, concern in her voice.

"No," Damian answered quickly. "No, she's just at her parents' house. _They're_ at her parents' house," he amended. "They're staying there."

"Why?" Bruce wondered. "For how long?"

"I—I don't know, OK?" Damian was trying hard to exit the conversation. It hurt to talk about. He didn't…want her to leave, he didn't want her to be gone. He should have come home. He'd meant to, but...he couldn't. Or he didn't.

"Jo was pretty upset the last time I saw her," Selina remarked, taking a sip of her sparkling water. "Said you weren't pulling your weight as a parent. She talked to you, didn't she? Went to your office?"

Damian was moving quickly into anger. "What do you know about pulling your weight as a parent? Either of you."

"Son," Bruce began in a clear attempt to calm him down. "We understand the incredible stress three newborns can place on a marriage, but—,"

"But what?" Damian asked, his tone combative. "What do either of you know about marriage? What do you know about parenting newborns? Nothing. You don't know jack-shit. Fuck—you guys are, what? 75 and 70? And you're still not fucking married. This life you built—it's half-assed, all of it. You didn't build shit, just collected what other assholes didn't want. What fucking example have you _ever_ set for me? Who am I supposed to look up to? You, Bruce? You, who fucked around, sleeping with every goddamn floozy in town? Or you, Selina? Who treated your entire life like a fucking game?" his parents seemed genuinely surprised at the vitriol he was spewing, but he wasn't done.

"How old was Selina when you met her, huh, Bruce? 18? Yeah, that's how old Jo was when she and I got together too, the difference being I fucking committed to her. Didn't take me 24 years and a thousand other women, or her a million near-death experiences and a substance abuse problem. So before either of you—or worse, you two together—try and lecture me about my fucking marriage, how about you take a look in the goddamn mirror and tell me why you failed to provide me a fucking blueprint!"

Bruce could only blink, so it was Selina who took the reins. "Damian, this isn't about us," she started slowly. "This is about you and how you're navigating this world as a man…"

"Yeah, as a man in whose image?" Damian laughed mirthlessly. "His?" he pointed at Bruce. "He never taught me how to be a man, he taught me to be Batman, and Batman isn't a man at all, he's a fucking mirage. Batman's married to justice and this godforsaken city. Batman doesn't have to come home to a wife and three kids. His night is over when he takes his mask off, it's—,"

"—his mistress," Selina interrupted to correct. "Justice is his mistress, not his spouse. His spouse is Bruce, or Harleen, or Dick, or Barbara, or Cass, or Steph, or Tim, or Jo, or you, Damian." She smiled kindly. "Mine is Catwoman. Pamela's is Ivy. They're coping mechanisms and they're relationships, Damian. No way to escape it. We can laugh all we want at those ' _is Selina Kyle having an affair with Catwoman_?' tabloid articles, but I think it's time we choose to look at them like a metaphor."

"At the end of the day, our other selves—our heroes—they have to mean to us what they do to other people," Bruce added. "Like a marriage, it's supposed to be a partnership. And there were plenty of lessons I learned wearing the cowl that helped me as a man. That's what I attempted to impart to you. For me, Batman was always the man Bruce Wayne couldn't be—the one Bruce Wayne wanted to be. And now, Bruce is all I have left."

Selina sighed, sounding legitimately remorseful. "I miss Catwoman every day."

"So…what?" Damian questioned. "How about you direct me to the nugget of fucking wisdom."

Bruce raised his cane, using the end to poke Damian in the chest. "Be the kind of man you can live with after he's gone. When you can't put on that mask to hide from your problems anymore."

"And go write your own fucking blueprint," Selina added. "That way, in 30 years, Terrence won't be standing in your shoes, saying you failed him. History is doomed to repeat itself…until someone takes it upon themselves to make a change. I highly suggest you be that someone."

/

Harley felt a bit guilty, honestly. She knew the circumstances that brought Jo home weren't exactly something you should root for—especially as a parent—but Harley got lonely during the day, when Pam was gone, and Anthony had work, Duke had school, Selina didn't feel like coming over…and there was nothing she could do about it, either. She couldn't go anywhere. Her enjoyment seemed to come at the mercy of others.

So, yes, Harley liked having Jo home. _Bite me_. And she liked being around the kids. More than that, though? She liked watching Jo around the kids. It was sweet, seeing her figure things out. Jo observed them curiously, with a mixture of wonder and apprehension that reminded Harley of herself when they'd first brought Anthony home. Anthony, himself, reminded Harley of Pam with how he related to his son. It seemed natural for him, his movements fluid, his words soothing, and Duke had responded to him just as Anthony had responded to Pam—quickly and completely, bonded from day 1.

It hadn't been like that for Harley, exactly. There'd been a learning curve, and she'd tried her best, but like Jo, she'd felt overwhelmed. Being responsible for a human being was a lot to shoulder. Something so helpless, that looked at you like you were the sun and the moon and every single star. A parent is a child's entire universe, but as they grow, the dynamics tend to reverse, so this—getting to watch her own daughter—fully grown now, a woman—experience that same curve. Make those same mistakes. Feel that same love and excitement…it was surreal, and rewarding and wonderful—and bittersweet as well, but Harley didn't want to think about why. Didn't want to think about the fact that with each day that passed, with each year her children grew, and her children's children matured, she was growing older too. And she couldn't press pause, she couldn't rewind…it was like she was binge-watching the greatest show ever made, and she wanted to stay up for another episode, she wanted to know how it all ended, what happened to all these characters she'd grown so attached to…but once it was done, it was done. There wouldn't be another season—not for her, anyway.

"No, no, no, no, no," Jo was guiding the straw back into Terry's mouth. "C'mon, Bro. You gotta drink it." She groaned when he refused to latch on, dramatically resting her forehead on the table. "This is gonna sound weird…" Harley brought herself back to the present moment to listen. "But did you ever wish you could have nursed us? Breastfed, I mean." She turned her head, laying her cheek on the table now so that she could look up at Harley. "As a psychiatrist you must have an opinion on it."

"Yeah, I hated that I couldn't," Harley admitted. "Felt terrible about it, actually. But I did as much skin-to-skin contact as I could to supplement the intimacy. And you guys didn't need breastmilk you needed—uh—plant juice," she gestured towards the bottle in Jo's hand.

"Special juice for special kids," Jo chuckled, sitting up slowly to rock Terry's bassinet a few times before trying again to feed him. "And then you'd tell me that's how Batwoman got so strong, which takes on a whole new meaning now that I know you were Batwoman. I hope to Gaia 'drinking plant juice' isn't a fucking euphemism."

"Well, seeing as I told Anthony that's how Kid Flash got so fast, I sure hope it wasn't," Harley laughed. "Otherwise you Mother has a lot of explaining to do."

Jo snorted, relief watching over her face as Terry finally latched on.

Harley allowed for a moment's silence to pass before asking the question she really didn't want to. The one Jo probably didn't want her to either. "Any word from Damian?"

"Nnnope," Jo answered, pointedly keeping her focus on her son. "Two weeks—Not a call, not a text, not an instant message, a facebook status, a tweet, a snapchat, an Instagram DM or a fucking email. Complete radio silence from the man I intimately shared the last 7 years of my life with and who's responsible for 50% of these adorable bastards."

"And you…haven't tried to talk to him either?"

"Nope," Jo repeated. "I stated very clearly what I needed from him. Told him I was leaving if he didn't deliver. He didn't deliver. I left. That shit's on him, and he knows where to find me should he eventually grow some boobs."

"You mean balls," Harley corrected.

Jo squinted, taking that under consideration. "Mmm…no," she decided. "I definitely meant boobs."

/

"Alright," Anthony lolled his head on the grass to look at her, though he had to sit up slightly because his view was presently obstructed by Daisy who was sleeping quietly between them. "Baiji White Dolphin."

Jo held her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. "2002, I think. But shit started going downhill for them in the 1950s when China industrialized."

"I'm not giving you bonus points," Anthony haughtily informed her.

"Yeah, whatever," Jo scoffed. "Passenger Pigeon."

"Gone in the wild by 1900," he answered, rolling back to stare up at the clouds again. "And 1914 in captivity."

"1914 would'a done just fine, thanks," Jo teased. "Uh, Tas…" she trailed off mid-word when someone stepped in front of her sun. "Hey, what gives? I'm tryna get my tan back." Her eyes were closed, but she still groaned as soon as Damian cleared his throat. "The fuck do you want?" She asked him opening one eye, then the other, finding that it was—indeed—Damian standing above her, basked in the glow of the late July afternoon. "What's with the tux?"

"What's with the flannel?" he countered.

"I've been indoctrinated," Jo answered plainly, sitting up.

"But…it's July."

Jo pulled her shirt up in response, pointing to her abs. "My bodyfat is nonexistent. I'm always cold." She shoved it back down. "And my summer wardrobe is probably the least important thing on the planet right now."

"And you're wearing a tux, Dude," Anthony pointed out. "Built the wrong house to throw rocks."

Damian briefly glanced at Anthony, his jaw tightening, perhaps at the other man's obvious comfortability around the baby that lay next to him in the grass. "Can we—umm—talk?" he directed his question at Jo. "Alone?"

"Uh—nah," Jo decided before nodding at the paper he was clutching in his hand. "Those divorce papers?"

Damian seemed confused for a moment, until he followed her eyes and realized what she was talking about. "No, it's a…well," he was clearly embarrassed to be saying this in front of an audience. "I missed you. And there were all these little things I missed. Things I didn't even think about before because I just—you know, I love you, so I wrote them down. Some things I love." He thrust it out to her like a child would show his Mother a report card.

Jo took it from him, noticing the envelope was marked with her name and parents' address on the front. Clearing her throat, she freed the letter from its constraints (almost laughing at the fact he'd used the official Wayne Family stationary). He'd written in bullet points, and there were a few different pens represented, which signaled to Jo this had been a running list he'd updated throughout his days.

 _"_ _Reasons Why I Love You"_ it was titled in Damian's blocky print.

· _you smell good naturally (I don't like perfume)_

· _you're a good kisser. Thought that the first time I kissed you and I still think it now._

· _calling you 'my wife' makes me feel proud_

· _you're pretty. I think about how pretty you are every time I see your face_

· _when you've got headphones in at the gym, you sing every song out loud, even the instrumentals, and I don't think you realize it_

· _based on how much you listen to it; there's a chance your favorite song is Trumpets by Jason Derulo_

· _your eyes make me crave lime jello. I know it's weird, but they're really green_

· _you learned my name in Arabic_

· _funny_

· _your laugh makes me smile_

· _…_ _no gag reflex_

Jo snorted at that one.

· _I don't always have to talk for you to know what I mean_

· _freckles_

she stopped, folding up the paper and slipping it back in the envelope despite there being at least two more pages. "What do you want me to do with this?" Jo asked, looking back up at him where he'd been nervously watching her. "This is cute, but it doesn't help me. I haven't heard from you in three weeks. My brother has been more of a Father to our kids than you have so far, and like—he's hot, i get it, but I'm not into that. So that's great that you love me—really, I appreciate hearing it because you made me feel like utter shit letting me leave, but it's not enough, Damian."

"I know," he murmured, looking down at his shoes.

"You asked me to grow up, remember?" Jo prompted. "Said I had to do it fast, and I did. Sounds awfully hypocritical now."

After a brief moment of indecisiveness, Damian got down onto his knees, making no move to take her hands, but kneeling in front of her—more than likely ruining his pants. "Jo, I think you really were unconscious."

 _Out of all the things to—,_ "What?"

"The day the kids were born," he clarified. "I think you were knocked unconscious when you hit the water. I did the math—ran some scenarios, and with your exposure to the impact, there's really no way you weren't."

 _This punk-ass motherfucker…_ "What's your point?" Jo spat.

"I don't know why you lied," he said. "Why you pretended it was all fine—maybe you didn't want to scare me, maybe you didn't want to scare yourself, I don't know, but I do know that it didn't really matter to me. I went back for you, and I'd play it the same way every single time. And that's the kind of husband I want to be too. One who helps you even when you don't ask for it or pretend you don't need it. Who's there for you because you're my partner. And I—it took me three weeks to come and get you because I didn't understand why I let you leave in the first place."

"Was it…because you're scared?" Jo wondered, her tone conveying how obvious it was.

"Well, y—yeah."

"Mm," Jo nodded. "Yeah, I'm scared too. Outta my fucking mind. I'm terrified. The difference is I didn't run. Never even crossed my mind as an option. Not in a million years did I think about abandoning ship. But you did. You peaced out for three weeks. How can I ever trust you again? I'm serious. How can I trust I won't end up alone?"

"Because Batman would never leave you alone," Damian stated definitively. "Batman would never let you drown. And I'm Batman."

Daisy chose that moment to wake up and begin crying. "And what about them?" Jo asked, picking the girl up in her arms. "I'm glad you want to be a better husband, but I'm honestly a little more concerned with you being a father to our children. I believe you love me. Do you love them?"

Damian's gaze slowly drifted downwards from Jo to Daisy. "I'm afraid of disappointing them," he admitted. "So much so it keeps me up at night. The only other person I feel that way about is you, and I love you…so I suppose I must love them too." Then he held his arms out. "Can I hold my daughter, please?"


	67. Chapter 67

**Author's note:** **OK, so...similar to Ch. 17, this is about as close to an 'M' rated chapter as you're going to see in this story. It's...I don't know, Tinkered with it for a while to be able to get my point across without changing the rating, but "eh". Lemme know if it's too much**.

 **You got him?** Anthony typed, sending the message quickly. It was roughly a 15-minute drive to Wayne Manor, and Karen had left 25 minutes ago, so even with lag time he should be getting the response he wanted.

 **Bee: yep.**

…he'd been hoping for a little elaboration.

 **How does he look?**

Anthony waited, watching his screen as the bubble popped up to signify she was formulating a response.

 **Bee: cute.**

Well that's supremely unhelpful, Anthony thought, before another text message came in.

 **Bee: be home soon**

So he'd have to be patient. Fine. He could be patient. He'd been waiting on bated breath for the last 6 hours anyway, 15 more minutes wouldn't kill him, would it?

…it might. It actually might.

Anthony picked up the hose, checking to make sure it was set to 'shower' before beginning his rounds in the garden…for the second time that night.

He's stress gardening again.

Shouldn't he be asleep?

Perhaps we should tell Ivy…

Anthony rolled his eyes, attempting to tune them out.

If he's going to entertain us twice in one night, you'd think he'd be able to put a shirt on by the second.

…but that wouldn't be nearly as entertaining, would it?

"Honestly," Anthony scolded, even though he knew they couldn't hear him. "A man is allowed to garden whenever he prefers in whatever state of dress—or undress!—he prefers. Thank you for your unsolicited input." He shut off the water. "And if you two—that's right, you," he pointed an accusatory finger at Hyacinths and the Snapdragons. "Continue this disruptive behavior, so help me, I will replant you."

He seems angry.

I like him when he's angry.

Nope, he was done. Anthony was done. Gardening was supposed to be relaxing, he was not finding this relaxing. He turned around, heading back towards the house, passing his tree as he did—the one Barbara and Dick had gifted him before his birth that now stood tall in his yard.

He's concerned about the boy, it enlightened the others.

I don't see why, the Snapdragon replied. He's in the Sister's care.

But the sister can be reckless, the tree reminded them. Our man is kind. Our boy is gentle. The man fears his boy's innocence will be lost, like the sister's was.

The sister was never gentle to begin with, the Hyacinth argued. Our boy wants to be good, not just powerful.

Anthony sighed, deciding he'd leave them to their disagreement—which he couldn't intervene in anyway. But he did pat his tree's trunk, resting his hand there briefly before continuing inside.

He remembered how smooth that bark had felt under his fingers when it was just a sapling and he just a boy. He'd known that tree longer than he'd known Jolene. Longer than Karen. Longer than Duke…

It'd survived two replanting's and a close encounter with a lightning strike during an especially bizarre Gotham summer…and it was oddly reassuring, it being there, planted firmly in Anthony's backyard where he could see the branches out his bedroom window, where they sometimes knocked against the glass during windy nights.

Growing up, Anthony had been 'the boy'. The boy who watered it, who helped it to grow. And now it was grown, just as Anthony was. Anthony was 'the man' now, and Duke was 'the boy', and now the tree was big and strong enough for the boy to climb in its branches…the ones Anthony had helped bring to fruition with every drop of water he'd fed it.

Duke had been waiting for this night for a long time. Anthony knew that, Anthony was proud, it was just…yes, his boy was so kind, so gentle, and 10 felt…young. Young to be exposing him to that world, to those dirty streets.

Then again, Duke had been exposed to it—in one way or another—since the day he was born. It was bred into him, Anthony supposed. And the only thing he'd thought was more fantastic than Poison Ivy being his Grandmother, was Batman being his uncle—by marriage, of course, but whether Anthony liked it, whether Pam liked it, the Quinzels were now as much a part of the Bat-Family as the Waynes.

And never, not in a million years, did Anthony want to stand in the way of his son and something he loved. Duke felt this was his calling, just as Jo had, just as Damian had…he wasn't happy just sitting on the sidelines. He wanted to be in the thick of it. Wearing the suit, wielding the weapons…Anthony had long ago accepted that his son took more after Karen in that regard then he—who'd always been content cheering from the bleachers—and that was fine. Truly, it was. But Anthony would always worry. Just as he worried about Jo, just like he worried about Karen, and just as he still worried about his Mother. Yes, the immortal metahuman.

He'd just pulled a t-shirt over his head when the door opened, and Duke entered positively beaming.

…with his cheek sliced open and obvious bruising around his eye…but it was hard to notice that stuff as his grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Karen, you said he was fine!"

"No…" Karen corrected as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I said he was 'cute', not 'fine'. And he is cute."

"And fine." Duke defiantly announced. "Aunt Jo let me drive the hovercraft. Best night of my life!"

"On the water?" Anthony was aghast.

"Yeah," Duke nodded excitedly. "These guys were trying to sell humans, Dad! So Aunt Jo was like 'not on my watch', and we went on this awesome boat chase, and they had guns, but we had Grandma's grenades—not the ones that kill people, the nicer ones that just paralyze them for a bit cuz Aunt Jo didn't want to accidently hurt any of the people below deck—but so when we caught up to them, Aunt Jo had to tie the boats together, so she let me drive, and she said I was really awesome at it!"

"Then what?" Karen prompted him.

"Oh! Then we put everybody in handcuffs and turned em over to Auntie Babs," Duke said with satisfaction. "And Aunt Jo said me and her make a better team than she and Uncle Damian, and that I'm the best Robin she's ever worked with."

Anthony chose not to point out that Duke was the only Robin Jo had ever worked with. Just didn't seem necessary, and Duke's enthusiasm was infectious, so he let it be. Besides that, Duke was typically a pretty reserved kid, played his cards close to his chest, so this unbridled joy they were getting to witness felt pretty special. "Does your face hurt? Looks like you didn't make it out unscathed," Anthony remarked instead.

"Carrie offered to close it up, but he said he'd rather you did it," Karen told him as she stripped her coat off. "I'll make you some celebratory pancakes, Bud. Sound good?"

Duke smiled slyly. "You think I could…get some chocolate chips in those bad boys?"

Karen laughed, kissing him on the cheek. "I think that can be arranged…" she moved forward, placing a hand on Anthony's chest and giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Would you like some pancakes too?"

"Yeah," Anthony grumbled. "Banana, please."

/

"You can't say that kinda shit," Damian hissed. "The walls are way too thin."

"You should probably shut me up, then," Jo suggested, hiking the hem of his t-shirt over his abdomen, strongly encouraging him to do the rest.

He obliged her, and she giggled as he pushed her against the wall.

"What?" Damian panted, his lips pressed to her skin, yanking her sweats down to her ankles as he kissed her neck.

"Too thin for a little dirty talk but substantial enough to shove me against?" she helped him by stepping out of the fabric. "That's some wack-ass logic."

"I'm going to take your advice now," he told her, leaning down into a heated kiss as he hoisted her up—Jo doing the rest by wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands fisting in his short hair while he walked them over to the bed.

She sat up once she'd landed on the bed, raking her nails up his back with her right hand while her left worked to pull down his briefs…at the same time as he was attempting to pull her tank top over her head. "Come on, Man! We don't have time for miscommunication!" she complained, resigning herself to his plan by finishing the job and tossing her tank top off the bed, leaving her in a sports bra that Damian slipped his hand under as—

"Mommy!"

"Goddamn it!" they cursed in unison, Damian disappointedly retracting his hand and climbing quickly under the covers, mumbling "really should have locked that" as Jo followed suit.

"Ya think?" she mocked as Delilah flung their bedroom door open.

The girl happily climbed onto the bed without hesitation, taking no issue with her parents' relative state of undress. "Mommy, look." She thrust her hand forward to show off the large diamond ring she was wearing on her finger. "Daisy and me are getting married!"

Jo wasn't quite sure how to respond. She wanted to laugh…but maybe that wasn't the right way to play this. So instead she just asked: "Am I invited to the wedding?"

"Yep!" the girl confirmed enthusiastically. "And Daddy too."

"Delilah, no," Damian said like he wasn't sure why Jo had allowed this to be entertained. "No, you can't marry your sister."

"Why not?" she demanded, her ginger curls bouncing grumpily as she took on a full-body frown before attempting to climb over Jo so that she could speak to her Father face to face.

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses," Jo wrestled her back down beside her. "We're gonna wait a second to enter Daddy's personal space, alright? He's still a little excited."

"About what?" Delilah wondered.

"About—uh—wrestling," Jo decided. She really wasn't in the right headspace to parent. "But he's right. You can't marry your sister."

"Well—well how come?" Delilah asked—somewhere between angry and heartbroken. "Aunt Carrie's married to a girl, and so is Grandma and Nana. How come I can't be married to a girl?"

Damian was awkwardly adjusting himself below the blankets, sweat beading on his brow. "It's not the fact that she's a girl that's the problem. It's because Daisy's your sister. You can't marry your sister."

"B—but I love Daisy," she protested, tears gathering in her eyes.

"And that's great," Jo consoled her with a gentle squeeze of her arm. "I love Uncle Anthony too, but I love him in a different way than I love Daddy."

"Like how?"

"Like…I want to kiss Daddy, and hug Anthony."

Delilah wrinkled her nose. "Yuck. I don't wanna kiss anybody. Only hugs."

"Perfect," Damian clapped. "Problem solved."

"Lilah," Terry said sternly from the doorway, his arms crossed and his expression austere. "You cannot just take Kitty's pretty things. That's called stealing."

"But I wanted it!" Delilah shouted back like that was a winning argument.

Dealing with this ridiculousness on no sleep wasn't exactly ideal, Jo decided. And the fact that the kids were awake at 7am was just…when did they grow out of that? "Guys, we have a door. The door was closed. We're tired, alright? We love you, but we're tired."

"What in tarnation…?" Daisy filed in behind her brother. "Keep it down, Mommy. I cannot think with all this commotion."

"Right," Damian nodded sagely. "Because this is our fault. That makes sense."

Daisy raised an eyebrow from behind her pink glasses—all of which looked rather ridiculous on a four-year-old. "Mommy, are you frustrated?"

"In literally so many ways," Jo sighed before pulling Delilah onto her lap and tickling her mercilessly. The girl shrieked with excited laugher, wriggling until she'd slid off the bed and back onto her feet.

"Terrence, I need you to make sure your sister puts that ring back where she found it, and then you all need to get dressed for Nana's party," Damian told them, trying to exert some control over the situation.

"Nooooo!" Daisy suddenly wailed, dramatically falling to the ground. "You can't make us wear clothes!"

"I can, and I will," Damian assured her.

"Don't make us match!" Daisy pleaded from where she was…making snow angels? Sprawled out on the wooden floor.

"I just—I said get dressed!" Damian was somehow still surprised at his children's antics. "I didn't say you had to match. When have we ever made you match?"

"Can me and Lilah match, though?" Terry asked, stepping right over his sister. "Can I wear Daisy's pants?"

"Wh—," Jo looked over at Damian confusedly to find he was mirroring her expression. "Why is this a thing?" she directed her question at the kids. "Can this not be a thing?"

"I wanna wear my pajamas," Lilah decided. "And a tiara." She added. "And a cape."

"Ooh, me too!" Daisy sat up excitedly. "Lilah, let's wear our same pajamas!"

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just said you didn't want to match…"

"But that's no fair!" Terry protested. "Who will I match with?"

"How about Dad?" Jo suggested, reluctantly climbing out of bed and grabbing her sweatpants from where she'd discarded them only moments earlier.

Terry pouted. "That's no fun."

/

"OK…" Pam set the waffle down in front of Harley. "Belgian waffle with strawberries, whipped cream, and maple syrup. Shall I get you the bag of white sugar from the cabinet as well? And maybe a syringe so you can just mainline it?"

"No…but I'll take some Nutella," Harley grinned up at her.

Pam rolled her eyes, turning back around and heading towards the pantry, mumbling "you're lucky it's your birthday," as she went.

"More like I'm lucky you remembered it was my birthday!" Harley called after her before smiling broadly down at her plate. "Waffles waffles waffles, waffles waffles waffles," she sang to herself, cutting into it with her fork as Pam returned, plopping the jar of Nutella down beside her.

"Happy?" Pam prompted.

"So happy," Harley replied with a mouthful of food, chewing contentedly as she watched Pam stand above her. "You gonna sit down?" she took a drink of orange juice. "I can share my Nutella…"

Pam cleared her throat. "Wait here, please." And again, she left the table.

"Yeah, don't really have a choice, do I?" Harley noticed she was heading for the stairs this time, and watched her ascend them before taking another bite of food, humming as she chewed. Being 70 was pretty alright, she decided. I mean…somehow I'm still not all that saggy. Well not 'somehow'… let's not pretend like this marriage wasn't strategic, Harley chuckled to herself. But yeah. The first few hours of 70 hadn't been too shabby. She looked good! Felt good. And that was a surprise. 60-year-old Harley probably would have called her crazy, but it was nice. The sun was shining—even though it was September—the birds were chirping…

Harley raised an eyebrow as Pam returned and gently placed a wrapped box on the table in front of her. "For you," she said, sitting down across from her.

"I thought we'd open presents when the kids got here," Harley said.

Pam ran a nervous hand through her hair. "I'd really rather the kids didn't see this."

"Reeaallyy…" now Harley was intrigued. She snatched the box off the table and shook it next to her ear. "Is it…a strap-on?" she joked…until she noticed the blush in Pam's paled cheeks and how her gaze immediately fell to her lap.

Harley's jaw dropped. "You didn't!" she squealed almost childishly once she'd ripped the paper off.

Pam's face was buried in her hands. "You're making fun of me, aren't you."

"What?! No!" Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod. "Babe, this is like—I mean—far and away the best present ever. You actually went into the store and bought this for me?"

The redhead peaked out from between her fingers. "The clerk kept hitting on me."

"Why?" was all Harley could ask as she grinned giddily down at the thing.

"Because I'm—,"

"No, I know why she hit on you," Harley laughed. "I mean what possessed you to make this purchase? You've been pretty adamantly anti for like all 44 years of our marriage."

"Well, I…" Pam cleared her throat, needlessly adjusting her glasses. "I wasn't…umm, the concept made me uncomfortable, as you know…but I—well I knew you…"

She wasn't sure where this was going, but Harley was very much enjoying this verbal roller coaster.

"So," Pam tried again. "I'm not sure if you remember, but about 6 months after you got your legs back…"

"When we were young and fun and Scrabble wasn't our primary source of entertainment," Harley helped her out.

"Right," Pam acknowledged. "Well, you were feeling good and solid in your physicality. You'd completed your initial physical therapy and muscular rehabilitation, and you were gearing up to work with Bruce again…"

"Uh huh…" Harley sat forward, bracketing her plate by leaning her elbows on the table.

"Well, one night you went out drinking with Selina—this was back before she got sober, of course—and I was on a business trip, so you…well, you texted me. Things like how you missed me and were excited for me to come home—which I found very endearing—but then you quickly escalated into a laundry list of things you wanted to do to me upon my return…the most graphic of which had to do with pulling my hair and…well…that," she nodded towards the box in Harley's hands. "You were evidently extremely inebriated because when I came home, you made no mention of it…so I went into your phone and deleted the messages to ensure you wouldn't remember because the entire concept just sincerely stressed me out. I mean—it absolutely sounded like something I'd be interested in doing to you, but for me…I just wasn't ready to be that vulnerable and I…I want to apologize for my invasion of your privacy, but it felt necessary at the time."

Harley dropped her bottom lip from where she'd been holding it between her teeth. "So…I think what you're apologizing for is going into my phone to delete a drunk sext I sent you," she couldn't keep herself from laughing. "You know what I'm actually pissed about, though? That you can remember said drunk sext in enough detail to buy me a gift for a specific sex act I referenced 36 years ago, but cannot remember Valentine's Day is on Februrary-fucking-14th. What sort of bat-shit, compartmentalized thinking…" Harley shook her head, another swell of laughter hitting her suddenly. "So why now? You still haven't answered my question."

Pam rapped her fingers on the table for a moment before continuing. "I remember feeling disappointed with myself, that I couldn't entertain a desire of yours that was clearly so specific. And I remembered thinking that perhaps, in another life, I would have enjoyed that. Or Pamela would have enjoyed it if that power hadn't been so severely abused." She took a deep breath. "And now I feel terrible for taking this long to get comfortable with it because you—well, there are some things you just can't do anymore, so…I don't know. I'm sorry. This was the best I could do."

Harley just watched her for a moment, attempting to take all this seriously before she just couldn't anymore. "Is this the lesbian version of ED medication?"

Pam smirked. "I suppose…although I'm really not sure how enjoyable it will be for you."

"Plenty—," Harley coughed after trying to force too many words out of her mouth at once. "Plenty enjoyable. Can we cancel the party?"

/

"Were you scared?" Terry asked, his eyes wide.

"Pfft, no way," Duke assured him as he lounged against a tree, a pair of sunglasses (unnecessarily) shading his eyes. "There's no time to be scared. It's do or die, that's all there is to it."

"Did Mommy help protect you?" Terry wondered, sitting forward on his knees, hanging on every word.

Duke shrugged casually. "We're a team. We gotta help each other."

Carrie snickered as she listened in on the conversation from the picnic table a few yards away.

"What?" Anthony asked, picking the candied walnuts and blue cheese out of his salad and transferring them to Karen's plate.

"Your son's a goddamn hero, is all," Carrie teased, taking a bite of her hotdog. "I don't know what Jo would do without 'im."

Anthony stared her down. "You think you could eat that hotdog a little less salaciously? It's confusing me."

"She's not eating that hotdog for you, Bro," Courtney informed him as she plopped down on the seat next to Carrie, kissing her on the cheek. "No mayo, can you believe it?"

Karen raised an eyebrow, popping a walnut into her mouth. "What on your plate requires mayonnaise?"

Courtney looked deeply offended. "Umm, I think you mean what on this plate doesn't require mayo."

"She's from the mid-west, guys," Carrie explained. "It makes sense to her. But because we're not insane, Babe," she meaningfully took Courtney's hand, looking her in the eye. "We just can't support it."

Courtney snorted at that, pulling her hand away and shaking her head. "You guys are nuts."

"Jolene!" Damian shouted, clearly upset the plate of food he'd made her was getting cold. "Stop terrorizing the children and come eat."

"Terrorizing implies they're not asking for it!" Jo called back from where she was spinning in circles with Delilah tossed over her shoulder.

"What?" Pam spoke up from where she was sitting with Selina, Bruce, Barbara, Dick and Harley at the other end of the table. "Nowhere in the definition of terrorize does it make that a stipulation. Perhaps you meant it implies they're not enjoying it?"

"Hey, I know this sounds crazy, but what if you—like—weren't a nerd for two seconds?" Jo mocked, slowing to a stop, Delilah's beaming grin now visible.

"No! Mommy, don't stop!" she complained, pounding on Jo's back with closed fists. "Go again! Go again!"

"Sorry, Kiddo," Jo sighed, lowering the girl back to her feet. "Hoes gotta eat too."

"What's a—,"

"Hey there, Delilah!" Harley interrupted her question…and Pam's eye roll was so exaggerated Anthony was afraid, for a moment, her eyes might get stuck. "Comere and show Nana the present you got me."

That distracted her for long enough to allow Jo to slip away, jogging over towards the seat Damian had saved for her. Her mouth was full of food before she even sat down.

"Hey, aren't we supposed to have three?" Damian asked, realizing one of their children wasn't accounted for. "Where's Daisy?"

"Umm…" Jo twisted around, scanning the yard, but came up empty. "Hey, Mom," she leaned forward so that her view of Pam was unobstructed. "Daisy? Any idea where she wandered off to?"

"She fell asleep out here, so I moved her onto the couch," Pam told her before resuming her conversation with Dick.

"Should we be worried about how much that kid sleeps?" Damian wondered.

"No," Jo answered quickly. "Please, it's a blessing, don't ruin it. Now, Anthony, I'm so glad you're here. There's a pressing matter we need to discuss."

Anthony narrowed his eyes. "You're…so glad I'm here…at our Mother's birthday party?"

"Whatever she wants to talk to you about, it's going to be weird," Karen warned, chewing slowly on another walnut.

"Anthony," Jo sighed. "Look, Man. We need zippers."

"Zippers?"

"Damian and I need zippers in our suits because we keep getting cock blocked at home and it's putting a strain on our marriage," Jo elaborated.

"OK, well, I don't know about a 'strain'…" Damian corrected Jo's exaggeration. "But yeah, it's the worst. Turns out getting to sleep with her was like 40% of the reason I married her."

"60 for me," Jo told them. "60 easy. 70-75, some days."

"Wh—no!" Anthony couldn't believe this was an actual question. "No, I'm not—I'm not helping Batman get laid while he's on the job."

"Then don't think about it that way," Damian prefaced. "Think about it like you're helping your Brother-in-law get laid."

"Yeah, by my sister!"

"Come onnnnn," Jo whined. "Plllleeeeaaassse."

Anthony just shook his head, refusing to look his sister in the eye for even another moment. "I can believe Mom let you have children."

Seeing that her request was falling on deaf ears, Jo tried the other person that could be of service. "Karen, K-Dawg, K-Money, K…fuck, I don't know. Help us out. Be a friend."

"No," Karen was laughing. "Getting cock blocked by your kids is a natural part of life. If it were an Olympic sport, Duke would have won the gold medal."

"God, seriously," Anthony agreed under his breath.

"Before you even ask," Harley piped up from the head of the table...where she had evidently been listening. "The answer is yes. All the fucking time."

"Could be worse," Selina joined in. "They could refer to Jo as 'the floozy' and call you 'disgusting' every time you try to show her physical affection."

A look of guilt flashed across Damian's face and his eyes fell to his plate.

Selina gasped. "So he does have some shame."

"Helps to not have someone you feel a natural allegiance to whispering lies in your ear," Harley pointed out.

"Here, hold on," Selina stood up from the table, reaching into her back pocket and producing her credit card sleeve. "Do you take card, Dr. Quinzel? Figured I'd just pay for the whole hour if you've got more wisdom to dispense."

"Debit only," Harley deadpanned, watching as Delilah climbed onto Pam's lap.

"Grandma, there is enough food for you to have some," the girl assured her, casually lifting Bruce's burger patty out of its bun and taking a bite like it'd been intended for her all along. "We can share this meats," she suggested.

"Meat, singular, darling," Pam corrected, pressing a kiss to the girl's temple. "And that's very kind, but unnecessary I'm afraid. I already ate."

"Because of the sunshine?" Delilah asked, running greasy fingers up Pam's green arm.

Pam cringed and Barbara silently handed her a napkin, holding in a laugh at the obvious nausea that had overtaken Pam at the feeling of animal fat on her skin.

"Yes, that's right," she mumbled, tossing the used napkin onto the table.

"How come you don't have a birthday, Grandma?" was the girl's next question.

"Oh, well, I do," Pam attempted to explain, grabbing the plate Harley was handing her and holding it under the dripping burger patty in hopes of saving her white dress. "I just choose not to celebrate it."

"Are you as big as Mommy is?" Delilah wondered.

Pam sat the girl up straighter, hoping to make their positions more comfortable for the both of them. "We're about the same height, yes,"

"No, in oldness," she corrected, taking another bite of the patty and sending Bruce groaning up to his feet at the realization he wasn't getting it back.

"Lilah," Harley took over for her. "Your Mommy was our baby. Me and Grandma's. We used to hold her on our laps when she was as little as you."

Delilah looked confused. "But—Mommy's not little, she is big. And grandma is big, and Nana and Kitty and Grandpa are bigger. Did you…" she furrowed her brow, her almost gray blue eyes squinting. "Did you hold Grandma too?"

"No," Bruce said as he sat back down, watching his granddaughter closely as he closed the bun on his new burger and raised it to his mouth. "Grandma is magic. She hasn't been little in a very long time. She's been the same—umm—bigness," he attempted to use her vocabulary. "Since before your Nana was even born."

"So then how big is she?!" the girl demanded, setting the greasy patty angrily down on the plate Pam was still holding for her.

"You familiar with Jesus Christ?" Selina asked.

"I am!" Terry shouted excitedly from behind them.

"Great, well, he was your Grandma's lab partner back in high school."

Pam rolled her eyes, both at the comment and at how amused Harley was by it. "I am 108 years old," Pam told her, evidently the only one at the table still taking it seriously.

Delilah's eyes widened. "That's…so big. So then…how come you look as little as Mommy?"

"Magic," Bruce reiterated.

"Yeah," Pam smiled-though it was tinged with a bit of sadness. "Magic."

/

"Daisy was so bummed she missed the party," Harley lamented before Pam's lips moved against hers in another heady, languorous kiss. "We should have woken her up for cake."

"I sent her with a slice," Pam consoled her, moving her lips down to the hollow of Harley's throat before running a hot tongue back up her neck, interspersing it with wet kisses along the way, and eventually tugging gently at her earlobe with her teeth.

"Oh, that's good," Harley sighed contentedly—referring to the cake, but definitely the other thing too—watching as Pam pulled the oversized t-shirt she wore to bed over her own head, setting it down gently beside them. Harley was powerless against the grin that spread over her face and Pam took notice, sitting back on her heels.

"I think you might be enjoying this a little too much."

Harley giggled, "I think I'm enjoying it the exact right amount," she placed a hand on Pam's waist to pull her closer. "If you had any idea how many ab workouts I did for you…" she mused. "How many hip thrusts…"

Pam chuckled, engaging them in another slow kiss. "I think we utilized those abilities just fine without the toy."

Harley smiled, brushing Pam's hair back away from her face. "You know you don't have to do this for me, right, Pam-a-lamb? Really, I mean, it's an awesome sentiment, but I'll survive…I think."

"Mmm…but don't you want to see how far I've come, Dr. Quinzel?" Ivy teased, sliding down and pressing a kiss to Harley's abdomen, just above the region where she no longer had feeling. "Aren't you curious?" she swirled her tongue around the tip of the plastic that stood upright between Harley's legs.

"Y—yes," Harley choked, sweat beading on her brow at the sight. "F—fer science."

Pam smirked, dragging her chest deliberately up Harley's body until she was hovering just above her lips.

"You're perfect, you know that?" Harley breathed.

"So I've been told," Pam murmured, her delivery almost…sadistic as she teasingly brushed her lips against Harley's, pulling back when her wife attempted to angle for more.

Harley whimpered, perhaps the most aroused she'd been in the 10 years since she'd lost her legs again. She ran her hands over Pam's taut stomach, moving to her hips to gently guide her downward.

It was eerie, her green skin in the moonlight, the ridges of the vines just below the surface casting shadows like tree branches across the otherwise smooth expanse. Her long red hair cascaded untethered down her bare back, and her eyes glowed—verdant and unworldly—in the darkened bedroom, their focus fixed intently on Harley.

Ivy.

Harley suddenly felt the pressure of tears mounting behind her eyes. She hadn't…seen Ivy. In a long time, she hadn't seen her. Not like this.

Ivy was the one who'd insulted her. The one who'd gotten her shot. The one with the angry, warning hand around her throat. The coping mechanism. The monster that lived within, teaming like her vines just below the surface of her poisonous skin. She'd been a thing for Harley to marvel at and then throw away, to discard for the opportunity to put Pamela back in the driver's seat.

A statue to crack. A shell to break.

An illness. Something other. Something for the world to see but to cover up at home.

Harleen couldn't imagine Ivy would ever want to be with her, not after everything she'd done to Pamela. Not after she'd hurt her. Betrayed her trust.

…but here she was.

This was—this was it. Ivy was here, Ivy was…vulnerable. Ivy was hers.

Ivy was her patient, Pamela was her wife…but in this moment, she was all in one. She was everything.

"Ivy," Harley whispered between the other woman's soft moans. "Ivy."

Slowing her rhythm, Ivy leaned down over her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. "Yes?" she panted, her eyes closing.

Harley smiled up at her, running her hands down her back to cup her rear, encouraging her to keep her pace. "I love you, Poison Ivy."

Despite Harley's insistence, Ivy slowed to a more methodical rhythm, slowly opening one eye and then the other as she smirked. "The best Doctor I've ever had," she simpered playfully.

Harley trailed her hands lovingly up her back, tracing the patterns of the vines best she could. "And you're the best birthday present."


	68. Chapter 68

"G—Grandpa?"

…

"Grandpa. Mr. Bruce—Grandpa."

Bruce groaned, squinting into the darkness.

"Grandpa."

He felt someone pat his foot and turned slowly, certain that anyone he'd need to move faster for would call him something other than 'Grandpa'. "What is it?" he murmured.

Terry's little feet pitter-patted on the wood floor as he came around the bed, moving in perhaps unnecessarily close to Bruce's face. "Grandpa, are you awake?"

"I am now," Bruce grumbled, pulling the blankets back and painfully sitting up, his joints aching like always. "My question is, why are you?"

"I had a bad dream," the boy looked at him nervously, his voice a soft whisper. "Daddy died and then I went to his room in real life and he was not there."

"He's working," Bruce kept his voice low as well trying to avoid waking Selina where she lay beside him. "He and your Mother will be back when the sun is up."

"B—because they're Batmans?" Terry asked, his voice shaking along with his body.

"Yes," Bruce confirmed. "It's their job to protect the city."

"But—," Terry's bottom lip quivered as his eyes filled with tears. "Then who will protect me?"

"Might be wise for you to start learning to protect yourself," Bruce suggested.

"Jesus," Selina mumbled into her pillow. "He's four, Bruce. Let him sleep here until they get back."

Bruce watched the boy's eyes light up at the suggestion. "I'm a really good cuddler, Grandpa. I promise."

So Bruce sighed, giving his grandson another lookover—he did seem rather helpless—before begrudgingly scooting closer to Selina, forfeiting the outward edge of the bed.

…Although Terrence clearly misinterpreted that because when he climbed up on the bed, he climbed right over Bruce as well, wiggling into the space between he and Selina.

She sighed, allowing him some room…but Terry evidently had other plans as he took her hand and held it tight to his chest, like another child might clutch a teddy bear.

Selina could feel his little heart beat below her palm—fast and frantic (he really had been scared) …and as Bruce settled back into bed, pulling the covers over the three of them, she felt the beating slow—calm, comforted.

"Thank you," he whispered into the darkness, and Selina breathed in the smell of his soft hair, pressing a kiss to his temple.

/

"Mhm, mhm….mmm…mhm," Daisy nodded sagely, furrowing her brow as she removed the stethoscope from where she was holding it against Harley's boob (despite multiple reminders that's not where her heart was located). She said it was the softest landing spot. So…. there you have it. Nonnegotiable. "I'm sorry, Nana. I've got some bad news."

"Oh no," Harley feigned concern. "What's the matter with me, Dr. Daisy?"

Daisy scoffed, grouchily pressing her glasses to her face (even though there was a strap that went around her head to keep them in place). "That is Dr. Wayne to you, thank you."

"Ohhh, I'm so sorry," Harley quickly apologized. "Of course, Dr. Wayne. How silly of me. Anyway, what's up, Doc? What's the prognosis?"

"I'm…" Daisy sighed like the news she was about to share pained her. "I'm afraid you cannot walk, Nana. I am sorry to say."

Harley clamped her hand over her mouth in exaggerated shock. "Say it ain't so!"

Daisy just shrugged. "It's true. There's nothing I can do." She sadly set her stethoscope aside before walking around Harley's chair and using the handles to push her out of the way. "I am ready for my next patient."

"Ooh, me!" Jo raised her hand from where she was sitting on the tiny wooden chair Pam had crafted for tea parties when the grandkids came over. "Please," she faked a cough. "I'm very sick. In need of immediate medical attention."

"Hm," Daisy thoughtfully narrowed her eyes. "umm…no thank you, Mommy."

"Wh—why not?" Jo was clearly disappointed at her imaginary illnesses remaining untreated. "I'm hurtin' somethin' fierce, Kid! I send you to medical school at 5 years old and this is what I get in return?"

Daisy shrugged again, completely indifferent. "Your case doesn't interest me."

"Alright, well," Jo got up, dusting off her pants (despite the absence of dust). "This is the last time I'm letting you hang out with Grandma. She's clearly been a bad influence on you."

Pam snickered where she sat in the other tiny seat, nursing a tiny cup of tea. "Jolene, Darling, I have green skin. You can't compete with that."

"I guess I can't," she agreed. "But now I'm late to a brunch for Dogs for the Deaf or something," Jo picked her purse up off the tiny table. "Daisy, you're in charge until I get back. Be good, Girls," she pat Pam on the head. "You're in capable hands here with Dr. Wayne."

"Will there be actual dogs there?" Harley wondered.

"Uh—not sure, Ma. But I'll take a picture of any I see."

Harley's face split into a beaming grin, communicating that was exactly the answer she was looking for, and Jo smiled, leaning down to kiss her on the head and turn her back around to face the others before she walked out the door.

"So…" Pam rolled up her sleeve once it was just the three of them. "Do you know how to check blood pressure?"

Daisy frowned into her medical bag. "I don't got the tools."

"Mm," Pam frowned as well. "How about hydration?"

The girl shuffled around in her bag for a moment before repeating: "I don't got the tools."

"Well, lucky you, you don't need tools," Harley cheerily informed her.

"Here, watch," Pam took Daisy's hand to demonstrate and the girl observed her curiously, critically, even. Gently, Pam pinched the skin on the top of her hand with two fingers, and pulled up before letting go, both of them watching as the skin fell back into place. "Hydrated."

"The idea is," Harley explained. "That if you're drinking enough water, the skin should snap back quickly. But if you're not, it will move slllooowwwwllllyyyy."

Daisy giggled. "Slow like a snail?"

"That's right," Harley confirmed. "But, see, the problem is the test doesn't exactly factor in how ageing effects elasticity."

"What's elasticity?"

"It's like a rubber band," Pam told her. "A more rudimentary synonym would be 'stretchiness'."

"So, anyway," Harley held out her own hand. "I drink a lot of water. Grandma makes sure of it, and she is not playin' around. I mean it. So my skin should go back quickly, right? If I'm hydrated?"

The girl nodded ardently.

"Then let's try it," Harley encouraged.

Daisy grinned as she pinched the skin, pulling up just like she'd been shown before letting go. But this time, she pouted. "It didn't go back fast."

"That's right," Harley agreed once more. "Because the older you get, the less elasticity in your skin—doesn't matter if you drink water or not."

Daisy looked…well, disappointed would be the word for it. "That's sad," she decided after a moment of pensive silence. "Mommy said that old people die. Are you…are you gonna die, Nana?"

"Mmm…someday, yeah," Harley smiled kindly. "Happens to the best of em, Doc."

"Well I…I wish it didn't!" Daisy stomped her foot. "I wish it never happened to nobody never and everyone was beautiful for always like Grandma and that everyone that loves each other keeps each other."

 _Me too._ Pam pursed her lips, gently taking the girl's arms. "Some people don't want that, Sweetheart. Sometimes the people we love don't want that. But…" she brushed a ginger curl away from her blue eye. "That's a beautiful wish."

/

"Delilah—Delilah, please." Damian said sternly, pushing her hands away from his eyes as she sat atop his shoulders, but not before he stubbed his toe on a produce display. "Motherf—," Delilah clamped her hands over his mouth now.

"Not in the food store, Daddy," she scolded. Failing to call it a 'grocery store' not because she was especially stupid, but because the place was like an alien planet to her.

Jo snorted as she dropped a few apples into a bag, setting them in the cart she was pushing.

"It's not funny," Damian gritted, wincing at the pain…which likely wouldn't have hurt him at all if it weren't the third time he'd stubbed that particular toe on that shopping trip alone—all thanks to Delilah. "She knows what she's doing."

"Man, you know what? You used to be, like, a really fun as—butthole." Jo saved herself. Her daughter was 6, she'd heard the word 'ass' before…but still associated it more with a donkey than a butt, and they wanted to keep that dream alive for as long as possible. "Mean and sarcastic in all the right ways," Jo told him. "Now you're just…tight. You're a tight butthole and those are really only fun for the guy. Loosen up, Bro." she punched him on the arm. "I do it all the time."

Delilah was giggling (though not at the actual joke her Mother had made) before Damian had a chance to respond with anything more than an eye roll. "My teacher said I'm not allowed to say 'butt' anymore because I called somebody a 'butthead' and that's against the rules, I guess."

"Call him a 'Glutehead' next time. They'll never know what hit them." Jo held her arms up to help her daughter back to the ground and the girl smiled as she obliged her. "Now," Jo knelt down in front of her once Delilah was standing on her own two feet. "You see that shelf over there? With the candy?"

"Mhm," she nodded excitedly.

"Well, I need you to pick out three, alright? One for you, one for your Brother, and one for your Sister." Jo told her like it was a very important mission. "You think you can handle it?"

"Yep!" Delilah exclaimed, running off in the direction of the candy.

Jo sighed with annoyance once the girl was out of earshot. "We're way too fucking rich to do our own grocery shopping."

"It's to prove we're committed to buying local and sustainable. We only have to do it like once a month," Damian reminded her. "Don't get spoiled on me."

Jo scoffed, pushing the cart a few steps forward. "I like how you pretend like I'm Cinderella or something and you saved me from some life in the gutter. My parents' combined net worth is 5million, Damian. This isn't some inspiring rags-to-riches sob story. I was always spoiled," she leaned up to kiss him. "And that being said…I think it's time we hired a new butler. It's hard work maintaining that house, Babe, and we're busy people."

"My Father has done a fine job," Damian told her. "And there's no way he'd let someone fill Alfred's position. That man was more than just a butler to him, Jo. He was all my Father had before we came."

Jo sighed. "Damian, first off—I love your Dad. You know that. Really, the only men more important to me in this world are you and my Brother. But your Dad can barely even walk anymore. And that's _with_ all the longevity meds my Mom pumps into his system. He's moving into 'added responsibility' territory. And that's fine. It's natural and I'm here for it, don't worry…but it might be time for us to start making some decisions about our future…separate of him. I mean—hate to have to be the grownup here, but the older people get, the more they start to resemble children. You've seen Benjamin Button, right? Brad needed as much help from Cate at the end as he needed from Taraji at the beginning."

"Right, because my Father is Brad Pitt," Damian scoffed.

"Uh…he was pretty hot, Dude," Jo laughed. "Not to be weird or anything, but…I married you—fuck, you get the picture. You all look the same, that's not my point. The point is it's scary, I'm scared—scared about both your parents and mine, and I think another pair of hands—at least someone to help with the house—can only be a good thing. Yeah, Bruce will hate us for it, but…I think it's in his best interest. You know it is."

Damian groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "I fucking hate it when you're right, I hope you know that."

"Yeah…must be extra hard since I'm right all the time," Jo gave him a pat before turning to watch Delilah bound back over to them.

"Mission accomplished," she grinned, throwing three Twix bars into the cart.

Damian narrowed his eyes. "Terry and Daisy hate Twix, Lilah."

"Oh no…" she looked concerned. "I wonder what'll happen if they don't wanna eat them. Guess they'll have to give em' to me."

"My perfect evil genius!" Jo picked her up in her arms, hugging her tight and spinning her around.

/

"What's the movie again?" Pam asked.

"Shhhhhhh!" Harley scolded, digging into her popcorn.

"Harl, it hasn't even started yet," Pam whispered harshly. "And this isn't even an actual movie theater."

Karen cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out: "Let's get this show on the road! Some of us have to work in the morning!"

"Yeah, boooooooo!" Courtney agreed, throwing some popcorn at the projector screen.

"Alright, alright, alright," Jo walked in front of the screen, shading her eyes from the bright light of the projector.

"We can't see!" Anthony complained.

"Your head's in the way, Aunt Jo!" Duke agreed.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhh!" Harley scolded once more, this time to the whole room.

Jo exhaled. "Thank you, M—,"

"You suck!" Selina interrupted her to heckle.

"Hey! Barbara DeDrew!" Jo shouted back. "Zip it!"

Selina did, in fact, zip it—although it was clear Jo had only won the battle and not the war. The older woman settled herself back against her chair and popped a few M&Ms in her mouth, watching Jo with a scheming look.

"Listen up, you ungrateful little shits…"

"Ah! Potty mouth!" Terry pointed an accusatory finger at her from the front row.

"Jesus…" Jo muttered. "Here's the deal—I chose this movie for a reason: to teach you all about the true nature of people you interface with every day. For some of you, this film will start you on an intense journey of personal introspection, for others…well…how you take it in, how you process it will differ from person to person, of course. No two experiences are ever the same. But for me…I can say with confidence that I am a different person—even a _drastically_ different person—then I was before I was exposed to it."

"Damn it, Jo! Just press play!" Barbara complained.

"I wish you all the best," she said before she obliged them, taking her seat between Damian and Terry.

The theater was completely silent after the film ended. Not even the children spoke. The only sound in Wayne Manor's home auditorium was Jo chomping on her popcorn, looking at the audience instead of the screen. She shut it off after the credits had finished rolling and just watched, biting down on her thumb at the look of horror on her Mother's face.

"Wh—" Pam tried to speak. "But wh—,"

"I don't, umm…I don't feel well," Anthony's voice sounded strangled in his throat. "I don't think I'll ever feel well."

Silence enveloped them once more, and it was Bruce (sometime later) who formed the first coherent sentence.

"I don't have a Bat credit card!" he yelled. "I don't—that's ridiculous! They think I could just walk up to a bank and open an account without providing them with any personal information other than 'I'm Batman'?! and they just made a movie _assuming_ my true identity was Bruce Wayne?! That's slander!"

"That—that girl was awful!" Barbara angrily stammered. "I'm not Alfred's niece! That doesn't even make any sense!"

"And I'm not…I'm not…" Dick was having a difficult time voicing his complaints as there were clearly too many to get out all at once. "Nipples, why the—nipples."

Jo's attention was still aimed squarely at Pam who was now staring—dead-eyed—at the blank screen in front of her. "Anything to say, Mom?"

They all turned to look, and Harley waved a hand in front of her wife's face, which Pam didn't even blink at.

"M—m—m—monkey," was the first thing Pam said, her jaw shaking as she spoke. "That's not—I'm…I'm sexy…that's not—I'm not—monkey. I'm not monkey, I'm sexy, I'm…monkey with ice cream on my—my head. But I…" Pam's eyes were beginning to fill with tears. "I like _Kill Bill_ , I—I like _Kill Bill_ , I—why would she…"

And…Selina couldn't take it anymore. She sat forward and burst out laughing. "OH MY GOD!" she wheezed. "Holy shit! That was incredible, just…incredible," she stood up to clap. "Adam and Evil, you and Freeze oh my God," she wiped a tear from her eye. "Thank you. Just…thank you. Thank you, Jo. You were right. I am forever changed."

Pam just blinked, attempting to regain her footing. "I hated that," she muttered. "That was…that was the worst thing I've ever seen. I hated that. Everything about it. I hated everything about it."

Harley cleared her throat before gently leaning into Pam's ear. "Honey, the Woodrue depiction…are you alright? I mean, portrayal of you aside, are you OK?"

"Why would I…" Pam was mumbling. "Why would I team up with Freeze? His goal was always contradictory to mine, nothing can grow if—,"

"OK, good, you seem fine," Harley pat her on the shoulder supportively. "Let's watch the one where Cat's a blonde next."

"A what?" Selina sat up straighter. "I would never!"

Jo laughed maniacally. "Oh, but you would, Kitty. You would!"


	69. Chapter 69

**Author's note: hey, guys-something got wiggy here with the uploads, so if you want to go back and make sure you've read everything in correct order: 66 should start with "Pamela fastened the mandarin collar," 67 should start with "You got him?", 68 should start with "G-Grandpa?" and 69 should start with "Selina took a long slurp". Sincerest apologies for any confusion. Only half of my computer screen works, so...anyway, enjoy it in the correct order ;)**

Selina took a long slurp from her straw, the ice cubes clinking in her lemonade. "Is this what you thought retirement would be like?"

Harley raised an eyebrow from beneath the brim of her ball cap. "Retirement from psychiatry or from _costumes_?"

Selina shrugged, her gaze focused off the porch, her eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, her hair still short and stylish despite her decision to allow it to go gray after the triplets were born. "I didn't think I'd miss it this much."

"So…we're talking costumes, then. Alright," Harley acquiesced with a sigh. "Yeah, I guess this is how I imagined it. Just—you know—without the chair. But things have a way of catching up with us."

"That they do," Selina agreed, biting her lip. "I didn't even have a costume at the beginning, you know."

Harley took a sip of her lemonade. "No, I didn't know that. I don't know anything about you, really," she laughed. "You don't like me, remember?"

Selina snorted. "Yes, well…I am a woman of mystery," she kept her focus removed. "Guess I'm the only one whose head you never got to shrink, huh?"

Harley frowned, thinking on that. "Well Damian didn't exactly open up, so I'm not sure he counts…but he fathered my grandkids, so I've got some strings to pull."

"Cheers to you, then," Selina clinked their glasses. "As gathering strings is definitely the point of therapy."

Harley shrugged. "He's a dick, what do you want from me?" but as Selina sat up straighter, pulling her sunglasses off, Harley quickly amended: "who seems like a pretty decent Dad and a husband that my kid still enjoys being married to."

Selina tossed her sunglasses onto the table, watching Harley critically even as she returned to a more relaxed stance. Eventually, though, her attention drifted to the yard in front of them. "Objectifying your wife isn't even that fun anymore. Hey! Would it kill you to wear a thong?" she called out to Pam who was bending over to pick up a bag of potting soil.

With a grunt of exertion, the redhead hoisted the bag up over her shoulder, turning to face the porch. "I'm not wearing any underwear at all, Selina. Does that help?"

Wordlessly, Selina grabbed her wallet out of her purse, taking out all the cash she had and making it rain over the porch's railing.

Harley laughed. "Ooh, babe, do the—put on the flannel."

Pam sighed, "Harleen, it's 90 degrees and humid."

"Fair point," Selina acknowledged. "How about pants off, flannel on? Seems like a fair substitution."

"This?" Pam used her free hand to indicate the two of them where they lounged in the shade of the large umbrella that protected the porch plants during harsh Gotham summers. "I don't like. At all."

Selina waved her off, feigning disappointment as Pam carried the bag of soil across the yard. "Anyway," she exhaled. "Handjobs."

Harley laughed. "What's that now?"

"I got out of the foster care system at like 12 and started giving handjobs," Selina elaborated. "I was pretty good at them, too," she held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. "Nimble."

"Wh—wait, what do you mean you—,"

"One night, there was this guy—high, I don't know on what," Selina interrupted Harley's interjection to continue her story. "An older guy, a bit overweight. And normally I didn't look them in the eye when I was—you know—servicing them, but this guy initially said he'd pay me extra if I did. So I did…because there was a big-ass hole in the arm of my jacket from some barbed wire I got caught on jumping a fence, and I wanted to repair it. It was leather and totally badass and basically the only thing I owned besides a pair of jeans. But this guy…" Selina shook her head. "He started getting this crazy look in his eye about halfway through, and he was sweating and…it wasn't a good look," she summarized. "Turned out, he was having a heart attack. And I didn't know, didn't know what to do, I was just a kid, so…he died."

"Selina, I—oh my God!" Harley was horrified. "I had no idea that—,"

"Hey, I'm trying to tell a story!" Selina interrupted her once more. "I get no one cares about Catwoman's origin story, I don't even think people remember I have one anymore. But I do, and here it is, so listen up."

"I—yes, OK, alright," Harley apologized. "Go on, I can ask questions after."

Selina watched her for a moment to make sure she was done before continuing. "So I'm sitting there in this car with this dead body like _fuuuuck, what the hell am I supposed to do now?_ And obviously I'm scared. I don't know if I just murdered the guy or what. But I do know that I ran away from my foster home and I'm underage, so…I decide it might take the cops longer to figure out what the deal is if he doesn't have his ID. And when I open the wallet," she laughed, though there wasn't much humor to it. "This motherfucker was about to pay me $30 for a handjob when he had $500 cash in his wallet. What a fucking prick," her jaw tightened as she shook her head. "So I started pickpocketing when my—my johns," she didn't seem to like the phrase, "were distracted. Eventually, I decided theft was what I had the real talent for, so I dropped the guys altogether and started practicing for a bigger score. And thus, the greatest jewel thief to ever walk the streets was born." She smiled a bit wistfully. "Took me a couple heists before I invested in the suit. Before that it was just those ratty jeans and that leather jacket.

Harley swallowed, appearing to attempt to take that in. "How did you…when did you meet Bruce?"

"18," Selina answered. "We weren't in costume the first time. I'd grifted my way into a gallery opening, and Bruce was there, of course. Everyone was there. I was there to get an inside view of the floorplan, and he came up with a glass of champagne, and was his typical charming self. Great hair, great tux," she chuckled.

 _She felt the boy's eyes on her where she stood, hoping her dress and her thoughtful appreciation of the artwork on display in front of her was convincing. Would convince him that she belonged here. That she belonged to this world._

 _She swallowed as he approached, his steps only audible through the chorus of conversation around her because she was listening for them._

 _"_ _Magnificent," he remarked softly beside her…and it wasn't until she glanced at him that she realized he meant her and not the painting._

 _She nearly snorted. "That was awful."_

 _His responding chuckle was good natured as he offered one of the two glasses of champagne he'd been holding. "You'd be surprised how often it works."_

 _"_ _No," she took the glass from him. "I don't think I would."_

 _They stood there in silence for a moment, side by side, both examining the same object, though neither were paying close attention as the world moved around them._

 _He was a man, she supposed, upon closer inspection. But like her he seemed…older than the skin he lived in would indicate. He walked with a knowledge of the world—she could see it. There was a weight on his shoulders, invisible to those without one, but clear as day to someone like Selina. Someone with a weight of their own. She wondered briefly if her demons were just as obvious to him._

 _"_ _Perhaps you'd rather we critique the art, then," he used his glass to gesture at the sculpture before them, which depicted a tiger devouring its handler and was titled 'The Hand that Feeds'._

 _She tilted her head to give it a more thorough appraisal, finally murmuring: "I think he got what he deserved..."_

 _He chuckled. "Is that so?"_

 _She turned to him slowly, a smile—almost cruel in nature—licking at corners of her mouth. "Animals…wild things…are not meant to be caged."_

 _"_ _Mm," he acknowledged, his eyes flitting to her lips…but before he could say another word, she was handing her glass back to him._

 _"_ _Pleasure," she nodded, brushing past him towards the exit._

 _"_ _Wait a minute," he caught up to her. "I'm Bruce Wayne, and I…I didn't catch your name."_

 _"_ _Well, I didn't offer it, and you've got the start of a song on your hands," she winked, moving past him once more._

 _"_ _Is it Cinderella?" he guessed. "Because you seem to be leaving the ball in an awful hurry."_

 _"_ _Ah…but you see, I didn't come here to meet the prince, Mr. Wayne," she smirked, nodding up at the banner above her head expressing the gallery's gratitude to the Wayne Family for funding this installation._

Selina tapped her fingers rhythmically on the table. "He was new on the scene too—the costume scene, I mean—so we were both trying to make a name for ourselves in one way or another, and…he missed me, when I robbed that museum the next night." her jaw muscles relaxed into a more natural smile. "Just barely. I heard him coming and I got out of there, but…not before I took the sculpture. That was his first clue. And when he found me because of it, that was my last."

"OK," Harley said as Pam plopped down beside them, using the sleeve of her flannel—which she _had_ evidently decided to put on—to wipe the sweat from her brow. "So let me get this straight," Harley squinted, looking up at the sky. "You, Selina—my friend for the last…what? 47 years of my life? Were an orphaned, underage prostitute? Wh—what the fuck?! How is this just coming out now?"

Selina put her sunglasses back on. "Not exactly a period of my life I'm proud of. Did what I had to to get where I am, and…that's that."

"Then why'd you decide to tell us now?" Harley wondered, wanting to hear more. Wanting to…sit her down on that reclining chair in her old office and take out a notepad.

"Oh, well I already knew," Pam said, taking a sip of Harley's lemonade. "Sexual trauma seems to be a common thread among female villains."

"It's funny, Pam and I met almost the same way Bruce and I did," Selina chuckled. "Of course I didn't know what she was actually doing until later, but…"

 _Harvey beamed, turning around and tapping a redheaded woman on the shoulder who appeared to be deeply entrenched in a conversation with a board member of the Nature Conservatory of Gotham. "I'm sorry, excuse us for a moment." Harvey apologized to the man. "Pamela Isley, meet Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle."_

 _The woman turned around and for a moment, Selina understood Harvey's instantaneous infatuation. Bright green eyes, cheek bones that could cut glass, plump red lips and wavy crimson locks. She was maybe the most beautiful woman never to grace the cover of a magazine. Selina tore her eyes away for a painful second to see if Bruce had noticed the woman's ridiculous attractiveness. He had. He was blushing furiously and his sudden insecurity seemed to shake Selina out of whatever daze she was in._

 _"_ _Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Isley. Harvey here has told us so much about you…"_

 _Something flashed across the woman's eyes, but she smiled none the less and extended her hand to Selina. "It's Dr. Isley, actually."_

 _"_ _My apologies." Selina smirked. "The latter still stands, though. We can't get him to shut up!"_

 _"_ _Is that so…?" Dr. Isley winked at Harvey._

 _"_ _Bruce, don't be rude." Selina patted him on the back while he regained control of himself. "Say hello to Dr. Isley."_

 _"_ _I'm sorry." Bruce cleared his throat. "It seems I may have been overserved."_

 _Selina couldn't not roll her eyes at that. The redhead caught her in the act and giggled._

 _"_ _Pam, this is the Bruce Wayne. The man who helped me make this happen." Harvey told her._

 _Selina watched the woman's lip twitch before she said, "You're the one that helped Harvey secure the contracts from the nature conservatory?"_

 _"_ _The very same." Bruce grinned. "Beautiful and a doctor? How'd you get so lucky, Harv?"_

 _"_ _Oh, you seem to be plenty lucky yourself, Mr. Wayne." Dr. Isley told him, her eyes locking onto Selina's. "You two make such a handsome couple."_

 _"_ _Yes." Harvey chuckled. "The tabloids seem to think so as well. These two are always the bell of the ball."_

 _"_ _Actually…" Selina smiled, nodding in the direction of a photographer as he approached, aiming his lens at Harvey and Pamela. "It appears we've been replaced."_

 _Bruce smirked. "Enjoy, Harvey. Selina and I should make our rounds, but it was truly a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isley."_

 _"_ _Oh, please, Mr. Wayne." Pamela said, her voice sultry. "The pleasure was all mine. Perhaps we'll be seeing more of each other."_

 _"_ _Perhaps." Selina answered for him as she pulled him away from the other couple._

"We were all very young and angry back then," Selina said, sounding reflective. "Creepy to think you were like a Sophomore in high school while your future wife was poisoning Two-Face."

Harley was shaking her head. "Selina, I'm…fuck, I'm so sorry. Jesus Christ, is Pam the only one that made it out of her teenage years unscathed?"

"Oh, I made up for it in the end," Pam exhaled. "And 'unscathed' is a relative term. But yes, I—didn't have to provide for myself in that way," she acknowledged. "I just had to hate everything about myself besides my bone structure."

"Mm," Selina's smile was sad. "Well, we made it here, right? We're all in one piece, we're all…I don't know, we all try to remain fulfilled. We still drag our demons around, but maybe that's the point of it all. To see who can carry the heaviest shit the longest."

"That's a bit grim," Harley remarked.

"Talis vita est," Pam rose from her chair. "Such is life."

/

Jo checked her watch as she fastened an earring through her earlobe, the numbers appearing as a hologram a few inches above her wrist so she could read it at her awkward angle.

"I knew I should have brought my fucking clothes," she cursed herself, yanking on her overcoat—the ivory one, even though the chestnut was much warmer. _Not about function, it's about fashion_ , she reminded herself for the 13 billionth time since marrying Damian.

She'd been so focused on finding the kids something to wear that wasn't going to throw Daisy into a hissy fit that she'd completely neglected herself, and now she was late _. Classic_.

"Bruce?" she called out as she stepped into her shoes. "It's just you and me. What do you say we get out of here before your son divorces me?"

She stepped out into the hallways when she didn't get an answer. Not that she expected one. She and Damian's bedroom was a bit isolated on that floor.

"Yo, B-Man!" she tried again, bucking her belt (which she'd somehow neglected before). "Can we take the Martin? I wanna roll up in style."

But she stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the grand staircase, her blood instantly running cold.

"Oh fuck," she breathed.

He was laying on the marble of the main floor, his position awkward…painful, broken.

"Bruce!"

She ran down the stairs, coming to kneel beside him. To her relief, he was breathing, but at the angle his leg was jutting out, she was pretty sure it was broken.

"Bruce," Jo didn't know whether or not to touch him. If he'd sustained a spinal cord injury, adjusting him could be detrimental and of course she was the only one in her fucking family who didn't have a 'Dr' prefix. "Bruce, did you fall? Can you hear me?"

She was already panicking, but his only response being an incoherent moan made it a lot worse.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck," her voice was high and frantic as she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, unlocking it to dial 911.

"N—nnnn,"

Jo stopped, scurrying to the other side of his body so that she could see his face. It looked…weird, it looked contorted, and like maybe his nose was broken from the fall because he was definitely bleeding. "Bruce, I _have_ to call 911, this is a fucking emergency."

"Nnn—nnno," he tried again, and this time his protest was more coherent. "Too many—too many secrets."

"What?!" Jo was horrified. "Bruce, I'm not just going to let you die here on the fucking floor because we've got a Batcave downstairs. I'm calling an ambulance."

"I—Ivy," he forced out, although only half of his face seemed to be moving. "Call Ivy."

 _You stubborn motherfucker_. Jo decided to listen, dialing her Mother instead, her heartbeat somehow louder than the ringing of the phone at her ear.

 _"_ _Aren't you due to give a speech right about now?"_ Pam asked immediately upon answering the phone.

"Mom!" Jo shouted, more grateful at the fact that she'd answered than she could even describe. "It's Bruce! He fell—I think he fell down the stairs and he won't let me call 911 you have to help me please I don't know what to do he's in a lot of pain and I think maybe he had a stroke and—,"

 _"_ _Is his face drooping?"_

"Just one side."

 _"_ _Is he conscious? Is he speaking?"_

"I don't know, Mom," Jo was beginning to cry. "Just come here, please. Damian's gonna fucking kill me. I'd really rather call 911."

 _"_ _No,"_ Pam stated firmly. _"I was treating Bruce with technology and medications most hospitals won't be familiar with. I'm on my way. Just keep him awake until Selina and I get there."_

"I'll kill him if he kills you," Bruce managed to grunt out as she hung up.


	70. Chapter 70

Pam quietly stepped out into the hallway, holding the bedroom door open for Harley before shutting it behind them.

Damian and Jo rose to their feet immediately, Jo asking: "is he gonna be alright?"

The redhead cleared her throat, her eyes flitting to Selina where she remained seated, staring blankly ahead. "He suffered a massive stroke," Pam revealed, her tone somber. "It appears he was walking down the stairs when it happened, he lost feeling in his legs and then fell. From what Harley can tell…"

"A broken leg, two cracked ribs, a broken nose and I'd throw a concussion in there too," Harley said.

Damian shook his head, the movement subtle as he turned to face the wall, placing a hand there to steady himself. He closed his fist and slammed it, so hard that the painting hanging beside him fell, crashing to the floor. When Jo attempted to place a supportive hand on his back, he prickled, gritting: "How did this happen, Jolene? You were in the fucking house."

"I don't—I don't know," Jo stammered, retracting her hand. "I checked in on him before I got in the shower, and he was—tying his tie! He was fine! I told him I'd only be a minute."

"And what?" Damian spun around. "He fell down the entire flight of stairs and you didn't hear a peep? Just went about your fucking business?"

"Jesus, Dude," Jo wiped a tear from her eye. "I was on the 6th floor, he fell from the second to the first. I'm not Supergirl."

"And what good would it have done if she _had_ heard?" Selina murmured, her eyes glassy, unfocused. "She's not Iris West either."

A silence descended over the 5 of them, Jo gazing intently at her shoes, Damian glaring hatefully in her direction, and Selina still starring off into space while Harley and Pam watched, uncomfortable in every aspect of the situation.

"He's going to die," Selina realized, eventually breaking the silence. "That's what you meant to tell us."

"Don't be stupid, Selina," Damian snapped. "He's fine. Why else would he call the fucking witch doctor?" his dark eyes shifted to Pam, and she found his intensity…disquieting.

"Damian," she started out kindly, her voice soft. "Your Father is 85 years old. My options are limited here. I don't," Pam cleared her throat. "I don't think he called me here to save him."

"She's the vet," Selina mumbled. "He wants to be put down."

Damian scoffed. "You think Bruce Wayne is going to give up? Just like that? He fell and he's throwing in the towel? Fat chance."

"Baby…" Jo tried again, moving closer, a comforting hand outstretched.

But he slapped it away, his skin hot with rage, with betrayal. His jaw shook as he attempted to unclench it, his fist tight to his side. "This is bullshit," he spat, looking from Jo to Pam again and pointing an accusatory finger straight at her. "Bullshit."

The others watched as he stormed off down the hallway, descending the stairs out of sight.

Jo's tears turned from a trickle to a pour and she buried her face in her hands, sinking back down into her seat.

Harley sighed. "Jo, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You did what you could. That's all there is to it. It's frustrating feeling powerless, easier when you have someone to blame."

Ignoring that exchange, Selina stood up, asking Pamela: "Can he talk?"

"His communication is limited," Pam told her. "Currently, he's suffering from what's called a Neurogenic Stutter thanks to the stroke, but he would like to attempt to speak to each one of you individually. You last—that was his request."

"Fine," Selina muttered, turning around to clap in Jo's face. "Make yourself useful: go get the kids and call your brother."

With a wipe and a sniff, Jo obeyed, starting down the hallway in the same direction Damian had taken, but mumbling "maybe you guys should have let me hire a fucking butler," as she went.

Harley waited until she was gone to tell Selina: "Little harsh, don't you think?"

"She's fine," Selina contended in a tone that screamed for Harley to drop it. "Bruce went from kissing me goodbye this morning to not being able to form a coherent sentence, but Jo will be fine, don't worry."

Much to Pam's relief, Harley did drop it, starring down at her lap with something approaching shame etched into her features.

/

"Are you sick?" Delilah wondered. "Like, cancer sick? Like Mommy pretended to be?"

"Don't be stupid, Lilah," Daisy spat, her arms tight to her chest where she sat beside Terry. "He had a stroke. You don't just get cancer all of a sudden."

Bruce pointed a weak finger at Daisy, mouthing "stop it."

But she took that as further evidence of her point. "Look! He can't even talk!"

Delilah's eyes filled with tears, and she grabbed his still outstretched hand, holding it in her own. "What does Mommy mean when she says we have to say goodbye?"

"She means he's gonna die," Daisy informed her, angrily getting to her feet. "That right, Grandpa?"

Bruce nodded. "Thh—that's right. I'm ll—lleaving."

"Well it was nice knowin' ya, then," Daisy's words were choked with tears as she headed for the door. But her brother stopped her, hugging her from behind and keeping her in place.

"Daisy, please stop," he whispered into her ear. "Nana says it's OK to be sad."

"O—or m—mad." Bruce forced out. "Be mad. Bu—but…"

Terry released his sister so that she could turn to listen, which she did begrudgingly.

"Be good." Bruce finished.

Delilah laid her head down on his chest, holding his hand against her cheek. "I don't want to say goodbye, Grandpa. I'll miss you too much."

He tried his best to smile down at her, struggling to force his face into action. "Y—You have better family t—than mm—mme."

Terry came over to join them, shaking his head as he did. "No one will ever be our Grandpa again. You're the only one. I'll be a good Batman for you," he smiled proudly—though his blue eyes sparkled with tears. "Don't worry, I will. Strong and brave just like you and Daddy."

Bruce nodded in appreciative understanding before looking over at Daisy. "And what—," he had to close his eyes to focus on his words. "What will you be?"

Daisy blinked, that question catching her 8-year-old self by surprise. "Smart," was the answer she finally decided on.

Bruce watched her a few moments longer, unblinking. "Make me proud," he addressed that statement to all three of them. "Mm—make me proud."

/

"Damian," Jo was trying to stay calm. "I know you're pissed. I get it. I'm sorry, but please don't take it out on your Dad. You have to say goodbye to him."

"Why?" he demanded. "Christ—people live like that all the time! Your Mom's in a wheelchair, she didn't ask for assisted suicide, did she?"

"You know it's not the same," Jo said. "Damian, this kind of thing…it ruins people."

"Obviously," Damian scoffed, standing in front of the window and looking out onto the grounds of his family's house. A house that would now soon belong to him, he realized, and his stomach tightened as he did. "If he's willing to kill himself over it…"

"I mean letting him go without saying goodbye," Jo corrected. "Don't—fuck, don't be too proud. Please. Imagine if it was you in that bed downstairs. Imagine you're 85, already spend every day in pain, and then this happens and after providing for your family for years, you now need something from them. One thing. And Terry says no. Terry says he won't because you're weak for choosing the 'easy way out'."

Damian shook his head, watching her reflection in the window and hoping she didn't notice. "This isn't about me and Terry. This is about me and my Father and I will handle it how I please." He noticed her body language shift behind him, and when she spoke, her voice had lost the sympathetic undertone.

"Alright, look," she tried to breathe. "Damian Wayne, you spoiled fucking brat, you are 39 years old. You are married. You have three children. Your petulant sulking days are over. You are no longer that angry little boy who refused to call your Dad by anything other than Bruce and refused to acknowledge Selina altogether. You are an adult, and every action you take sets an example for _our_ kids. So if you can't do it for him—can't do it for Bruce, how about you do it for me? Or better yet, do it for the fucking kids. Show them how an adult man deals with things that are difficult. You need a punching bag? Fine," she spread her arms wide, making eye contact with him in the glass. "Here I am. Do whatever the fuck you want. I'm pretty sure I can take it. Or put on your Batsuit, take the car or the plane or the fucking boat and make a few mistakes. I promise I won't judge you. In fact, after tonight, there will be no one left to judge us—ever. But fuck, Dude, give your Father the time of day. Hold his hand, give Selina a hug, step up to the fucking plate. He's your Dad! He loves you! Step outside of yourself for two fucking seconds, like you regularly do for me, and be his son."

But he couldn't. No…no couldn't. His Father was Batman. His father was Bruce Wayne. His father was not some old man ready to give up on his life. If this was truly what he wanted, if he truly wanted to leave them like this—leave his family—then the real Bruce Wayne was already dead. No sense saying goodbye to whatever husk of a man lay in that bed.

Jo shook her head when he didn't respond, and after a long pause she gave up. "Fine. But just remember all three of your 8-year-olds did what you couldn't." she turned for the door of their bedroom, shouting: "Bruce should have let me hire a fucking butler!" before slamming it behind her.

/

Selina sat quietly in the chair beside the bed, though she didn't feel either of them were suffocating in the silence. Bruce just gazed at her, his head laying lazily on the pillow, taking her in like he was committing her features to memory—despite her confidence that neither of them would be able to forget the other's face if they tried.

Even like this, even while lying on his death bed, he didn't look weak. Didn't look frail. This was still Bruce—her Bruce. The young man at the party, the one underneath that cowl. Her designated driver, the man sitting beside her as she shook and vomited, getting that poison she'd let control her for so many years out of her system. Still, he'd chosen her. After all that, despite it, because of it…her best friend, her greatest adversary, her guardian angel, the love of her life…Bruce Wayne.

"I was telling stories," she murmured, breaking what had felt for a moment like a state of suspended reality. "When Jo called…I was telling Harl and Pam about me, about the man…" she smiled faintly.

"$500," Bruce said, trying to mimic her expression, but only succeeding with half of his face.

Selina chuckled. "That your Harvey impression?"

"Nn—not bad?" he phrased it like a question.

"Not bad," she agreed, running her hand distractedly up his arm. "Though you were always better looking."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "It's h—how I knew P—Pam was ll—llying."

Selina laughed before sitting back in the chair, her fingers dancing off of his arm. "I told them that story too. Left out the part about us hooking up in the bathroom afterwards to get out our Pam-induced sexual frustration…just figured I didn't need that going to her head, especially since she's finally got a handle on her ego."

"W—what else?"

Selina had to swallow down the lump in her throat at the realization that he just wanted to hear her speak. He'd wanted to see her last so her voice would be the last one he'd hear; the last conversation he'd have would be with her. "I told them about meeting you…"

"C—cc—inderella."

"And The Prince," Selina whispered with a smile, gazing at him once more, although she eventually had to look away, guilt overcoming her. "I'm sorry it happened like this. I didn't—God," she looked up at the ceiling. "You think about it, you know it's coming, it's inevitable—," she blinked, causing a tear to roll down her cheek. "But never you, Bruce. Not once did I imagine visiting your grave, saying—saying goodbye like this," she had to swallow again to continue. "This world was so lucky to have you, I just figured it would keep you."

Gently, he reached out a hand, resting it on her cheek and urging her to look at him. "Wouldn't be w—worth it without y—you."

Selina kept his hand there by covering it with her own, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks as she said: "I love you, Bat."

Bruce held the reverence of the moment, swallowing down whatever emotion was threatening to overcome him. "I love you, Cat," he replied, by some miracle without a stutter. "I d—do."

She smiled as best she could, moving his hand from her cheek to his stomach and gently tapping her wedding ring against his—the ones they wore just for show. "I do," she whispered, not bothering to wipe her eyes. "I always have." Selina took a shaky breath, noticing tears gathering in his eyes as well. "I used to steal things just so you'd chase me," she laughed.

Bruce shook his head, a single tear falling down his cheek. "I h—had to chase you. You took something from me. That f—ff—first night, you stole it."

"The statue?" Selina wiped the next tear from his eye.

But Bruce shook his head, moving their joined hands over his chest now…to cover his heart.

/

Jo sighed, sounding defeated. "I did my best, Mom."

Pam nodded in understanding, squeezing her daughter's wrist before taking a deep breath and turning towards Bruce's room for her final favor to him. She'd answered his call just like he'd asked in that elevator 25 years ago. He'd given her the gift of life, and in return, she was now prepared to give him the gift of death.

"Is it gonna hurt?" Carrie's shaky voice stopped Pam in her tracks.

She shook her head, turning to give Carrie a reassuring smile where she sat clutching Courtney's hand, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "It will feel like going to sleep. His last few moments, when he begins to slip, will feel far gentler than living."

Courtney wrapped a supportive arm around Carrie's shoulder, Anthony doing the same for Duke where the boy sat doing his very best not to cry. Barbara and Dick stood silently hand-in-hand. Cassandra sat off to the side, her head bowed reverently. Harleen sat with Delilah on her lap, Terry sitting at her feet with his knees drawn to his chest, and Daisy stood behind them, her arms crossed over her chest. And Tim wrung his hands nervously, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

With a nod, Pam left them, entering the bedroom where Selina still sat holding Bruce's hand.

They'd both been crying, that much was clear, and she noticed Selina stiffen at the sound of the door opening.

"Are you ready?" Pam asked softly.

Bruce blinked. "M—mmy son? D—dd—d—,"

"Damian," Selina finished for him. "Where's our son? He hasn't said goodbye."

Pam pursed her lips, trying to mask her own disappointment at Damian's failure. "He said he loves you very much, but he's…he's afraid, and he can't. He can't say goodbye."

Bruce blinked a few times like he was trying to process what she'd said, but clearly wasn't as upset as Selina, who tried to shoot up from her chair, but was tethered to her spot by the hand she was still holding.

"Let him be," Bruce said. "It's his chh—hhoice."

Selina looked down at him, seeming to weigh her options, and ultimately choosing to honor Bruce's wishes, kissing him on the cheek as she sat back down. "This is about you, not him. I'm sorry."

Bruce squeezed her hand, communicating that it was OK—not that it would be OK, he couldn't know that, but to Pam it seemed he was telling her spending his last moment with only her was alright.

Ivy sat down on his other side, pulling a small vial from her pocket and a syringe from the kit she kept down in the Batcave. "It doesn't have to be right now, Bruce," she reminded him. "We can wait a little longer, this is all up to you."

"I—I've said goodbye," Bruce told her. "Damian knows w—what he m—means to me."

Ivy nodded solemnly, readying the syringe, flicking the glass with her fingernail after it was filled with the green liquid from the vial. "Thank you," she murmured as she punctured his skin with the needle.

"F—for what?"

Ivy watched his eyes as she injected the liquid, his pupils dilating until she could just barely see the blue that made up his iris. "For being a good man. And for being my friend."

 ** _In loving memory of_**

 ** _Bruce Wayne_**

 ** _Father, Partner, Friend_**

 ** _1961-2046_**

 ** _"Men are still good. We fight, we kill, we betray one another…but we can rebuild—we can do better. We have to."_**


	71. Chapter 71

"Yeah, hi, what on your menu has the most calories?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your menu," Jo slowed down her speech. "What item has the most calories?"

The waiter laughed. "Ma'am, we don't keep calorie counts. This is a Michelin-starred restaurant. Might I suggest the Subway three blocks over instead?"

She blinked, and Luke cringed. "Oh, Buddy…" he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "You're going to want a do-over."

Jo smiled placidly up at the waiter. "You must be new here."

"It's—uh—it's my second week," he said, glancing between she and Luke, unsure of what exactly was going on.

"Mm, well, this table has been permanently reserved for the Wayne family," she informed him. "My sitting here should have been your first clue. Followed by the obscenely large diamond on my finger," she held up her left hand to illustrate. "And also the chef personally coming out to welcome us and calling me 'Mrs. Wayne'. In retrospect, that one was the real doozy. Now, knowing that, would you still like me to take my business to the Subway three blocks over? Because—actually—a meatball sub doesn't sound half bad right about now. What do you think, Luke?"

He shrugged. "I could go for a turkey breast, but you're buying."

Jo chuckled, moving her chair backwards from the table to stand up. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Wait! No, Mrs. Wayne, I'm so sorry," the waiter looked mortified. "Please, I just—he's not your husband—I didn't recognize…"

"Dude, quit digging!" Luke was laughing by this point.

"You're right," Jo acknowledged. "This isn't my husband—this is Lucas Fox, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. And I'm terribly sorry I'm unrecognizable when I'm not hanging off my husband's arm. Now please go to the kitchen and tell Mateo to make me something with copious amounts of butter, bread and…I don't know, duck or something."

"And I'll take the Coq au vin," Luke told him. "Thanks."

The waiter nodded mutely, his face beet red as he left them, tail between his legs, heading straight for the kitchen.

Jo sat down in a huff. "I'm sorry, things have just been…it's rare for me to be in a good mood these days. Been a rough month."

"Well, the service was beautiful," he assured her. "He meant so much to so many people. Separate of the company, even, the Wayne Foundation has inspired so much positive change in this city. I feel grateful just to have known him, and working for him all these years was an absolute dream. I know my Father got my foot in the door, but Bruce saw something in me, and I can't…I can't ever repay him for the opportunities he afforded me."

"He was lucky to have you, Luke," Jo smiled. "We all are, really. Damian…"

"Yeah, how is Damian?"

Jo pursed her lips before admitting: "he's having a hard time. Made a few decisions he's having difficulty living with—as predicted. He and Selina aren't really talking, he's…I don't know, he's working through his grief in his own way and it's been hard on everyone. Understandable, but exceedingly shitty."

Luke nodded. "He can be stubborn."

"Yeah," Jo agreed, tapping her fingers on her water glass. "Yeah."

"So…do you want to wait until the food arrives to tell me what this meeting is about?" Luke wondered. "You're a good friend of mine, Jo, and I'm glad we're catching up, but a solo lunch date seems like a new step for us."

Jo sighed. "Honestly, I was hoping you'd distract me from my reality for a second, but I guess I already took that out on our waiter." She bit her lip, leaning back in her chair to decide how best to phrase her proposal. "Your sister, Tiffany…" she began.

"15 years old already, can you believe it?" Luke smiled proudly.

"Time really does fly," Jo kindly mimicked his expression. "Tiffany has a skillset that I find intriguing. I know you're—umm—aware of a certain…pastime my family partakes in."

Luke nodded slowly. "Bruce told me himself the day he named me to my position at the company. Said it was a secret my Father helped keep for years, and now it was my turn."

"Good," Jo cleared her throat. "Well, with Bruce's passing, my Mother's advanced age, and Damian's current…unavailability—recruitment is my job, and…I want Tiffany."

Luke looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean your sister's a fantastic gymnast, a brilliant student…and we've got a position open that I would like her to fill," Jo elaborated. "I came to you first rather than her because I know she has parents, and I know she has you. The rest of us are orphans or had parents who were participants themselves. I didn't want to step on any toes."

The waiter returned with their food before Luke could respond, asking: "Anything else I can do for you?" though he was unable to make direct eye-contact with Jo.

"No, thank you. This is fine," she waved him off.

"Jolene…" Luke started as soon as they were alone again. "I can't just…that shit's dangerous."

"It is."

"She's my little sister, what do you want me to say? Yeah, sure, have her, let her spend her nights on the streets hunting criminals?" he shook his head. "Jesus, she's just a kid."

"My nephew has been working for us since he was 10, he's 14 now. She won't be alone. I was 15 when I started, Damian was basically born with a batarang in his hand…look," Jo exhaled, gathering herself. "I think she's fantastic. Have for a while, and now…the timing was right, and until my husband gets his shit together and my kids age another two years at least, I'm drowning here. Tiffany's already got the skills to succeed, I know you taught her how to box—that's exactly the foundation we're looking for. I just think she'd be a great fit."

Luke sighed, swallowing his first bite of food. "I don't know, Jo…that's a bell that can't be un-rung, and she's got a bright future ahead of her…"

Jo leaned over the table conspiratorially. "Can I tell you a secret?"

He shrugged as he chewed. "Shoot."

"You ever heard of the superhero known as Bumblebee? Works for the league."

"I have," he acknowledged.

"Well, you've got her on your payroll," Jo revealed. "She's got a husband, a kid, and a fulfilling career outside of her suit. It's all possible, Luke. From what I've seen, Tiffany is capable of spectacular things. Don't define her limits, that's just putting a cap on her potential."

Luke watched her a moment, his eyes narrowing critically before he burst out laughing. "Why you gotta do me like that? All inspiring and shit…"

Jo laughed. "I'm putting this on the company card, and as my job description is 'look hot, give speeches', I had to check both boxes. So there ya go," she tipped her imaginary cap. "Look, if you're comfortable with it, I'd love to just talk to her about it. I'm not in the business of twisting kids' arms, so if she's interested—great. If not, I'll back off. You have my word."

/

Selina wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there.

Long enough to forget, it seemed.

Long enough not to care.

 _"_ _Bruce Wayne…The Bat himself," she chuckled, examining the suit proudly displayed behind recently cleaned glass. "A prince whose shirks his seamless silk sheets to serve his subjects." She looked over her shoulder to where he stood watching her, his arms crossed over his muscular chest as he leaned casually against the rock wall of the cave. "I'm almost impressed."_

 _He raised a dark eyebrow. "Almost?"_

 _"_ _I find your selflessness nauseating," she told him. "But I'm enjoying my look behind the curtain."_

The suit was empty now, as was the cave. And the house, despite it being full of Bruce's children, felt much the same.

If she were to look over her shoulder now, she wouldn't find Bruce standing there. Never again would she feel his eyes on her, watching, learning, gathering information. The man had been a detective from the day he was born until the day he died, of that she was sure. At the beginning, she'd wondered if there was truly affection at the root of their game—their chase, or if she was just another mystery for him to solve, something slightly more unattainable than the others. She also wondered if that's what she wanted, or needed, probably. That's what it had started as, after all—a contest, a battle of wills, of minds and abilities.

And now what? What had become of them?

Bruce was gone and Selina was alone. No more counter moves. No more rooftop races or rendezvous. No more galas or gallery openings. No more conversations over coffee…no more teasing, no more arguments…no more relationship. No more Bruce…and no more Bruce and Selina.

"Yeah, I always liked the classic," Dick remarked, leaning against that same wall. "Though I changed mine up for a reason."

"That was probably a good call," Selina acknowledged, though her delivery lacked her usual humor.

The sound of Dick's shoes on the stone floor reverberated through the cavernous room as he came to stand beside her. Gazing into the glass case in front of them, he said: "There will never be another Batman like him."

Selina nodded in agreeance, adding, her voice barely audible in a space that was used to echoing their every word: "Not another man, either."

/

Carrie smiled (one of the few genuine smiles she'd allowed herself since Bruce had passed) when a pair of gloved hands wrapped around her to set a cup of coffee on the desk in front of her.

"Got you a few extra pumps of chocolate syrup so it would be as sweet as you," Jo giggled into her ear.

And Carrie blushed despite herself, saying: "you didn't have to do that…" as she reached for the cup.

"I figured we could all use a boost." Jo was wearing her suit, though her mask remained off, as it usually did until she was officially on the clock. "And for you…" she set a cup down in front of Damian where he sat beside Carrie. "Black coffee because…umm…" she bit her lip to think.

"I'm boring?" Damian guessed.

"I was going to say 'effective'. We've gotta work on that self-esteem, Babe," she leaned, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "You ready to go?"

"After I finish my coffee," Damian had yet to change out of his slacks—which Carrie noticed were wrinkled, a definite first for Damian. He liked everything crisp, she'd learned that a long time ago. Once, she'd caught a glimpse of their family's dry-cleaning bill, and was pretty sure it was close to what her birth parents used to pay in rent.

It was little things like wrinkled slacks that told Carrie Damian was not OK.

"Where were you today?" Damian was asking Jo.

"I, uhh…went to lunch with Luke," she answered, sounding distracted as she enabled the solar layer of her suit.

"You talked to him on the phone last night, too." Damian pointed out.

"Yeah…to schedule lunch." Jo started past them towards the locker of ignition keys…but from the way Damian's eyes followed her, Carrie knew she was walking into a trap.

There was venom in his tone as he asked: "How long until you fuck him and tell me you just needed to blow off some steam?"

And…there it was. Carrie knew it was coming. Seemed a conversation with Damian was impossible these days without it ending with some variation of a blatantly shitty comment like that...though this type of attack was new.

Jo stopped in her tracks, straightening up with her back towards them. After a moment of bated silence, she slowly turned around, running her tongue along the inside of her cheek, shaking her head as she did. "Insecurity really isn't a good look on you."

Damian shrugged, pretending this exchange was somehow casual. "It's a simple question."

"OK, well, next time you want to lob some heinous shit at me, how about you do it in private?" Jo suggested, and not too kindly. "I'm sorry, Carrie," she apologized. "And I'm sorry your Dad died, Damian. I really am. I miss him too. But, Bitch, try that shit again and I will drag your ass to couples therapy so fast…Duke!" she called over to the boy who was sitting sheepishly in the corner, pretending he hadn't been listening. "Let's go. You're with me tonight. Uncle Damian needs some alone time."

"You sound a little defensive," Damian pointed out, attempting to sound smug, though, in reality, it just sounded…sad. Not his tone, that didn't come off remorseful, but his line of attack appeared rather desperate.

" _Honey_ ," Jo sneered, taking a step forward to fully engage him. "When I offered to be your punching bag, the conditions were that you talk to your Dad before he died. That offer has now been rescinded. And—regardless of the circumstances—after 15 years, I expect to be treated with a little more respect. I'm all for being a shoulder to cry on, but I'm not doing _this_ , especially not in front of my Nephew and Sister-in-law."

"Wow," Damian nodded like he was working to process her request. "Those are some mighty intimidating big-girl words…"

In one motion, Jo grabbed the coffee she'd brought him from the desk and opened the lid, spilling all 16oz of the piping hot liquid onto his lap. "Better put a call into my Mother before that scars," she recommended as he jumped up with a yelp, wiping madly at his pants. "I'm sure she'd be more than happy to help you out with your genital burns at 11pm."

Then she angrily spun on her heels, shouting: "Duke!" over her shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry," the boy apologized, scrambling to his feet and scurrying after her.

Carrie waited until the sound of the Batmobile's engine had disappeared before turning her attention back to Damian, who had his hand in a vise-grip on the edge of the table and his teeth gritted in pain.

Sighing, Carrie stood up. "You don't actually have to call Ivy, there's ointment in the kit."

She took her time retrieving it, not because she liked seeing Damian in pain, more just she _really_ didn't like seeing Jo in pain, and anyway, Carrie wasn't totally sure she could ever actually forgive him for not talking to Bruce.

"He asked for you, ya know…" Carrie told him as she sat back down, holding out the ointment to him. "When I was saying goodbye, he asked if he could talk to you next."

Damian snatched the bottle away from her, turning around to apply it so Carrie wouldn't be subjected to the full Monty. "He made his choice, I made mine," he gritted.

Carrie pursed her lips, absently watching his back muscles flex below his t-shirt as he performed his task. "He said he was happy we stayed."

"I don't care what he said."

"He said he was glad we helped make this house a home again," Carrie continued, disregarding Damian's dismissal. "And that getting to see your kids reminded him of when he was a boy, before his parents died, before everything changed. He said he was glad to get to see children's lives be somewhat simple again."

This time, Damian didn't respond at all, just quietly set the now empty bottle down on the desk, though he remained standing, his back still towards her.

"He suggested maybe me and Courtney should adopt," Carrie smiled to herself. "Said there were a lot of incredible kids out there looking for a purpose and for somebody to care about who cares about them. And—uh—I know he was mostly talking about me and Dick and Tim and Cass and Steph…but I think you were kinda an orphan too, in a way. Your Mom didn't want you, your Dad didn't help make you…and you had to come to this brand new place with these brand new people that you were told was your family. You got a new Dad and a brand new Mom…" she trailed off briefly as he finally braved a look at her.

"I used to be so jealous of you," Carrie chuckled. "We all did. _The True Wayne_ …we thought you had life a whole lot easier. This man, this smart, caring, good guy—the man who adopted us out of the kindness of his heart—he was your actual Dad! You got to be part Bruce! But now, I don't know," she shook her head. "Now I think maybe you had it harder. Bruce didn't have to see himself every time he looked at us, we were just things for him to love, but you…you're an extension of him. That's alotta pressure. And I think…maybe at the end he realized that." She sighed. "Guess I shouldn't be putting words in his mouth, but it seemed like…by the time he was ready to go, he'd learned to love all of us for who we were—separate of each other, separate of his charity…and I think his love for you was unique. And I don't—I'm not sure if your not talking to him made me sad because he was deprived of that goodbye or because you were…but I know for sure that the decision you made—it's final. You gotta live with it."

Damian's gaze fell to his lap, the brown stain of the coffee still wet on his pants.

"And Jo…Jo didn't make that decision," Carrie went on. "She said goodbye. She tried to convince you to do it too…but you didn't, and that's not her fault, and it's not Selina's fault either. Nor is it their fault or Ivy's fault that Bruce is dead. That one was his decision. So, I guess…" she squinted in thought. "I guess be mad at him if you have to. That's alright, it hurts that he's not here anymore, I get it. Pisses me off, too, and I don't even really get pissed. So be mad at him or be mad at yourself. But don't be mad at Selina, please. I think she's taking it harder than any of us. And don't be mad at Ivy because that's just…well, some sorta suicide mission. And Jo—Jo loves you, ya know? I mean, she feels terrible about this whole thing, I can see it. She's actually killed people before and I've never seen her look this guilty. And you know she met with Luke to talk about Tiffany, so can you just…quit being a dick? Before she actually burns yours off?"

Damian let a small smile slip and Carrie grinned, resting her hands on his thighs and encouraging him to look her in the eye.

"I love you, Bro," she told him. "Seriously, Man, I do. But Jo loves you too and I hate it when you guys treat each other like shit."

"That's just the way we talk to each other," Damian murmured.

"No…no it isn't." Carrie disagreed. "You think I haven't been around you guys enough to know the difference? Christ, Bro, I've walked in on you. I've seen it ALLLL…don't try to tell me I don't know the difference."

Damian sighed, slowly leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. "I wake up some days and it's like—just for a second—I forget. For that minute, right after I open my eyes, she's lying beside me, I know the kids are asleep just down the hall, and I think I'm gonna go downstairs and see him. The picture is so clear, he and Selina sitting at the kitchen table, drinking their coffee and eating their breakfast pastries, laughing together or…not saying anything at all just…being there. And it's—fuck, it's just a dream, Carrie. A beautiful lie. This fantasy that we can ever be whole again, that there are still perfect things, diamond absolutes. It's over. My Father is gone."

Carrie took his hand, squeezing gently. "Our Father."

He blinked, lowering his gaze to look at her once more, the gears in his head turning behind his eyes. "Our Father," he corrected. "Our Father is gone."

"Yeah," Carrie acknowledged, that now familiar sadness creeping into her expression. "Yeah, he is."


	72. Chapter 72

Pam rolled her eyes. "She's not looking for actual advice, Harleen. She's looking for a biased reaffirmation of her views."

"What do you care?" Harley asked, sounding distracted as she typed.

"I care—," Pam snatched the phone away from her, slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans as she continued pushing Harley's wheelchair down the paved path. "Because I'm trying to enjoy our walk and you constantly checking out of our conversation to reply to another one of our daughter's all-capital "I HATE MY HUSBAND" texts is irritating, especially as I also happen to hate her husband. Hated him long before they were married, too. Before they started dating, even, when he was just a human being that existed in my social circle—I hated him."

"You know what you are, Pam?" Harley prompted, reaching a hand out to brush her fingers along the leaves of the bush they were passing. "You're extra."

"What does that mean? In context."

Harley leaned back until she was gazing up at the underside of Pam's jaw. "You familiar with Murphy's law?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Yeah," Harley acknowledged. "Don't feel like explaining the other thing. Murphy's law, Pammy."

"Legally, you have to tell me if I'm walking into an _Interstellar_ joke."

Harley laughed. "Knock it off. Murphy's law says: anything that can go wrong, will go wrong…and there's a lot that can go wrong in a marriage. Especially one between people like Damian and Jo."

"People like…"

"Volcanos with arms and legs," Harley chuckled. "I love em' to death, but there's always a lot going on under the surface, and they're always ready to blow their tops. And losing a parent it tough, Pam-a-lamb. Almost impossible, for some people. I feel for the guy. And no matter how much me, or you, or Jo, or even Selina misses Bruce, we _chose_ him, Damian…he's a different story. Lotta misplaced anger going on with that guy."

"He's always been like that," Pam pointed out.

Harley brought her head back down again, facing forward as her neck had begun to ache. "All the more reason. Anger's always been his coping mechanism. He was angry at Selina for attempting to take Talia's place, then he was angry at Talia once he realized she'd willingly forfeited it, and honestly," this time she twisted her back, leaning her elbow on the back of her wheelchair to address her. "I think he assumed Jo would be a shittier parent than she is. So now his Dad's dead, Jo's helping his kids have a way easier childhood than he had, he's got enough personal awareness to realize being a dick to Selina right now is pretty much off limits, and Bruce is gone so there's really no point in cursing his name any further, and not just because he basically already spat on his grave by not saying goodbye, so…manufacturing stupid shit to be mad at Jo about is his easiest option, because when he stops feeling angry, he's just going to feel sad, and he mistakes grief for weakness. There ya go," Harley twisted back around. "Case closed."

Pam smirked. "Are you planning on charging Jo your typical hourly rate? Or will you award the family discount?"

"Depends," Harley said. "You charge Anthony for all the gardening tips you give him?"

Pam sighed, brushing Harley's hair away from her face to give her a kiss on the cheek. "No."

"Well, then there ya go," Harley smiled, pleased with herself as Pam came to a stop near a park bench, maneuvering the chair to sit next to it before sitting down herself.

And as she did, Harley's phone vibrated in her pocket. "Honestly, Jolene?" she groaned, taking it out…and seeing the text was actually from Selina. "Here. Selina." she handed Harley the phone, and the blonde laughed.

"Good call not opening it for me, it contains the details of my illicit affair, and also graphic critiques on your bedroom performance," she took the phone from her, opening the text message.

"No one likes their privacy invaded, I was just being respectful," Pam murmured, sitting back against the bench to watch the sun set.

"Hey, I got my toy," Harley chuckled, locking her phone and setting it face down on the bench. "You can invade anything you want."

Pam leaned over to kiss her, but broke apart after only a moment. "I'm not sure that sounded as romantic as you intended."

Harley shrugged. "Worked, didn't it?"

"What did she want?" Pam nodded at the phone.

"Us to go over there for dinner tonight," Harley tucked an errant strand of red hair behind her ear, her hand lingering against Pam's face.

Frowning, Pam said: "It's nearly 7 already."

"She said please."

Pam scoffed. "She did not."

"No, really," Harley laughed, grabbing the phone to show her the primary source. "See?"

 **Selina Wayne (u know it tru): Come to dinner tonight, please. I'm cooking. See you & Pam at 8? She's not answering her phone (bitch).**

"Mm…for a moment I was worried she'd been kidnapped or brainwashed or something, as the message was so kind…"

"But then you made it to the end?"

"But then I made it to the end," Pam confirmed.

"I think she's lonely," Harley said.

"Why?" Pam wondered. "That house is full of people."

"Oh, I think you can be surrounded by a thousand people and still feel lonely," Harley's smile was tinged with sadness as she, too, turned her gaze to the setting sun. "Especially when there's someone specific you're looking for in the crowd."

/

"Hey," Selina smiled as she opened the door. "You came."

"Well you used such _persuasive_ language," Pam mocked, holding out a cloth bundle wrapped loosely with a piece of twine. "I brought you some fresh herbs from the garden."

"Huh," Selina furrowed her brow in thought as she took the bundle from her.

"What?"

"Oh, I'm just trying to think if a sentence has ever been uttered that better identifies you as an elderly lesbian, but…" she shook her head. "Yeah, no, I think that one takes the cake. Perfect, you and my friend will have a lot to talk about."

"Selina…" Harley began a bit cautiously. "Is this the kind of friend who requires medication to get rid of?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly consider Gonorrhea a friend, Harl." Selina deadpanned before beckoning them inside and heading for the living room.

Pam snorted as she pushed Harley over the threshold, the blonde mumbling: "I meant are they imaginary."

Jo and Damian were sitting on opposite couches, Damian next to Courtney and Jo engaged in a conversation with a woman about Selina's age that neither Pam nor Harley recognized.

"Hey!" Jo called over excitedly once she noticed them. "You guys, this is Kate, she used to be Anthony's history teacher!"

"Civics teacher," Damian corrected, and the look Jo shot him was so cold Courtney literally shivered beside him.

Clearly sensing tension, the woman said: "well, I subbed in for a few history classes too. Wasn't really my thing, though, and I think the kids noticed. You'll have to ask your brother if he remembers that."

"Umm…pleasure to meet you," Pam offered, obviously thinking this situation was bizarre. "Is Selina making a point of collecting my s…" she trailed off, realizing she didn't just get to automatically be her children's Mother anymore. "Of collecting Anthony's former high school teachers?"

"She's a gay," Selina defended her actions. "Figured you guys would get along."

The woman rolled her eyes in the same way Ivy might. "She's being an asshole. I'm also Bruce's cousin. We live in a small world."

"Wow, I guess so!" Harley beamed, legitimately excited by this information. "I'm Harleen, Anthony and—uh—Jo's Mom," she gestured to her daughter where she sat on the couch. "Oh, and Penelope's too," she squeezed Pam's wrist as the redhead shifted uncomfortably.

"Huh, how close are you and Jo in age?" Kate wondered, looking back and forth between them. "You have to be twins."

"33," Pam mumbled, her gaze aimed at her shoes.

"Thhhat's right," Jo grinned, attempting to take the attention off of Pam. "33. But Penny's got a minute on me, and believe me she took full advantage of the older sister credentials because of it."

Kate chuckled, though it sounded forced. Pam hadn't exactly sold the cover story.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Damian groaned. "That's Poison Ivy, she's an immortal metahuman. That's her wife, they hooked up when it made sense, and that's one of their two kids—Anthony is the other. We good here?"

Selina cleared her throat uncomfortably as Jo, Pam and Harley all stared at him in horror. "Uh…surprise?"

Kate's jaw had fallen slack. "He's—ha—he's kidding, right?"

Pam sighed, releasing her skin pigment and gradually turning back to her natural green hue. "I sincerely hope you can hold your tongue, Kate, otherwise Damian here just signed your death warrant."

"No, it's—Ma'am," Kate stood up, almost at attention. "You…you have no idea the impact you've had on my life. I'm truly not sure what you're doing here with my cousin's widow, and I had no idea you were his son's Mother-in-law, that's…very strange and I have a lot of questions—but right now I'd just like to tell you that I was a military brat before I joined the Army myself and I saw a lot of mental illness go untreated, and a lot of sexual assault be swept under the rug, and you helped me and a lot of people like me realize we weren't alone."

Pam just blinked, but Harley was beyond intrigued: "You were in the army? For how long?"

"I served for 8 years. 8 years that included a tour in Afghanistan before they pulled women off the front lines and before I was dishonorably discharged."

Harley frowned. "You were discharged for serving on the front lines?"

"No, Ma'am," Kate laughed—sounding like the formality was out of habit. "I was dishonorably discharged because I was a lesbian before they lifted don't ask don't tell."

Harley gasped, looking excitedly over at Pam. "A rebel! Can we keep her?!"

Pam studied the woman before them shrewdly. "Why haven't we ever met you before?"

"Ah, I preferred to stay out of the spotlight." Kate told them. "Bruce and I got lunch or coffee every month or so, but I enjoyed my anonymity. Something I'm sure you can appreciate, Dr. Isley."

Pam grinned despite herself at being addressed by the correct credentials.

"There, look at that, a happy ending." Damian stood up from the couch, stretching his limbs before starting out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Jo asked.

"I don't know, Mom," he answered with a derogatory tone. "Wasn't aware I had to report my movements to you."

"Where are you going?" Selina seconded, sounding firmer than Jo had.

"To get a drink," he answered. "Why are you looking at me like I'm committing a felony?"

Jo quietly cleared her throat. "Damian," her tone was clip with a hint of warning to it. "We said we'd keep the house dry for three months, remember? Because we were worried about temptation in a time of grief?"

An awkward silence descended as Damian didn't answer. He seemed to have honestly forgotten because his quick glance over at Selina seemed nervous. "A soda, then," he corrected.

"You know what?" Jo slapped her hands down on her knees and stood up with a smile. "I could use a soda too."

"Fine, I'll get it for you."

"No," Jo shook her head, that pleasant expression still plastered on her face as she crossed over and looped her arm around his. "I think we should probably go get it together."

"She means we're going to argue," Damian addressed the group.

"That's right," Jo confirmed. "A younger us would have probably just had intense hate sex up against a wall or something. We might still do that, but we're probably just going to yell at each other."

"Guys," Selina rested a hand on each of their shoulders, her expression sincere. "You're talking to a room of people who essentially mated for life. You guys are only 15 years in. That's child's play. And I love you both too much to see this thing go off the rails already, so can I give you a piece of marriage advice, please? Just one?"

"You weren't even married," Damian mumbled.

"Damian…" Selina warned, boring holes into him.

"Yeah, alright, fine."

"Have sex," Selina stated simply. "Be intimate. Touch. Each. Other." She punctuated each word by simultaneously poking them in their chests. "I know making it happen with three kids has been hard for you guys, but take advantage of the time you're given, goddamn it! The kids are at gymnastics until 9! Be fruitful and multiply! Otherwise it makes total sense Damian would be worried about the hunky CEO, and it makes total sense that Jo would be interested in him."

"I'm not—it's not—Selina, Luke is my friend for Christ's sake, I'm not interested in him like that," Jo reasoned.

"Honey," Selina pat her sympathetically on the shoulder. " _I'm_ interested in Luke, and I'm 79 years old. _Pam_ might give the guy a second look, and she's the gayest gay I know."

"Selina…" Pam sighed.

"I'm serious," Selina reiterated. "Go make some magic happen. Away from us, preferably. Fuck while you're still young and hot and capable and life feels worth it!" she spun them around, starting them towards the stairs with a slap on the ass.

"Ow! What the hell, Selina?" Jo complained.

"Go," Harley seconded, pointing towards the stairs. "Just get out of here."

Damian and Jo glanced at each other uneasily before receiving another slap from Selina and beginning (somewhat reluctantly, it seemed) on their way.

Pam, who managed to hold her tongue until they left, finally broke. "Why are you two being so disgusting towards our children?"

"Relax, Pam," Selina chuckled, plopping down on the couch next to Courtney. "They're not actually going to have sex because their parents told them to—that's fucking weird. But they will be forced to occupy the same space without distraction for a second. Tired of hearing them bitch at each other."

"Mm," Pam grunted, evidently accepting that as she wheeled Harley next to the couch and she, herself, sat down next to Kate. "Where's Carrie?" she wondered.

"Went out to get pizza," Courtney answered.

"I thought you were cooking," Harley chuckled.

"I'm grieving, Harleen," Selina haughtily reminded her. "Can't be bothered. Besides, I gave Carrie Bruce's old Jaguar, and she's always looking for excuses to drive it."

"It's a really nice car," Courtney grinned in confirmation.

Kate hadn't been listening to a word of that conversation, really, starring at Harley instead. "You're Quinzel," she said, finally. "You're the psychiatrist. You're her psychiatrist. You were married to that Irving woman. _That's_ how you and Bruce knew each other. No—wait, you," she looked to Ivy. "You _are_ that Irving woman."

"We lead complicated lives," Ivy conceded. "I apologize for Damian's brashness and for my awkwardness earlier. I just wasn't prepared to entertain."

"No it's…it's really no problem," Kate said, a certain awe in her voice. "My ex-wife was a cop, and she saw some weird shit working in this city, but I'll tell you what, Bruce secretly being friends with Poison Ivy since the 90s is probably my favorite revelation. Funny what comes out after someone's passed."

" _Funny_ is one word for it…" Selina mumbled.

"Oh, a cop," Harley said. "I used to work at Arkham, would I know her?"

"Mmm, I'm not sure. Renee Montoya?" Kate told her. "We were only married for a few years, together before that on and off for a while longer, but we just ultimately couldn't make it work. I was depressed after I was discharged, self-medicated with alcohol and—uh—women…we all have our own demons. We gave it our best shot, though. But who am I talking to, you married your patient, I'm sure that comes with plenty of obstacles."

 _Haha, hey, one time your ex interrogated me for a murder I definitely committed. Small world indeed!_ "She's worth it," Harley smiled, leaning over to give Pam a kiss.

Selina shook her head. "45 years and you guys are still gross. I'm almost impressed."

"Oh, like you and Bruce weren't," Harley scoffed. "Finishing each other's sentences, all the non-verbal communication. C'mon, Selina, we're not uniquely annoying."

"I'd beg to differ…" Selina trailed off as her phone vibrated on the coffee table, and a look of disappointment crossed her face as she read the message. "They can't come…"

"Who?" Courtney wondered.

"Oh, um, Babs and Dick," Selina shook it off. "And Anthony and Karen are away at that conference, and Cass and Tim said they were busy, so…I guess it's just us."

Pam smirked. "And is that really so bad?"

"I—no," Selina painted on a smile. "No, it's fine—it's great."

Harley tried to put on a look that said ' _see? Told'ja she was lonely_ ' for Pam…but her wife had never been all that awesome at the nonverbal stuff…unless you were a mark, then she was fantastic. So anyway, it wasn't a surprise for Harley when Pam leaned over and whispered: "Do you need to use the restroom?"

/

"Is it bad that when I see a bed these days my first thought is about sleep?"

"No," Damian mumbled as he starred up at the ceiling. "I think that's where most normal people go first."

"Well, I used to think 'Man, I can't wait for Damian to rip my clothes off', does that mean I wasn't normal?" Jo questioned, lying beside him, both fully clothed and on top of the covers.

"That's exactly what it means."

Jo snorted, lolling her head to look at him on the pillow. "What about you? Do you think about sleep?"

"I don't sleep much anymore," he admitted.

"Not like I'd know," Jo pointed out. "Not like you sleep up here anymore, which is pretty hypocritical considering I vividly remember you once telling me 'you can't sleep on a couch'."

"You were being stubborn," Damian remembered. "Blaming something on your parents that really wasn't their fault, if I remember correctly."

"Oh," Jo laughed. "That's fucking rich."

"Not nearly as rich as me," Damian retorted, the traces of a smirk on his lips.

Jo propped herself up on her elbow, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Oh, so we're allowed to make jokes again?"

Damian shrugged. "You tell me. Was that funny?"

Sighing, she let her eyes wander over his body, over the profile of his jaw to his hazel eyes that starred resolutely upwards, blinking at the ceiling above them. "Can I be real with you?" Jo prompted.

"Have at it."

"I don't think you like me very much anymore," She said. "I know you love me—of course you do, I'm the Mother of your children. But I'm also supposed to be your friend, remember? You best friend, probably. And believe it or not, that was as important to me as our marriage. I care about you a lot, like— _a lot_ , a lot…and I want to see you happy. I like it, and I used to take a lot of pride in being able to make you happy. But right now, like I said, I don't think you like me at all, and if you don't like me, then we can't be friends, and if we're not friends…then the other stuff doesn't exactly feel worth it."

Damian closed his eyes, exhaling as he did. "What do you want me to say to that? I have no interest in ending out marriage, if that's what you mean."

"It's not." Jo dropped her head back to the pillow so that she, too, could examine the ceiling. "I'm asking if you value our friendship anymore. It's a yes or no question."

Damian was silent for a long moment, though Jo didn't look over to check on his progress, just quietly allowed him to mull the question over. "I'm sorry," was how he eventually broke the silence.

"I don't know what that means," she murmured in response.

Damian gently lifted her head off of the pillow, high enough so that he could slip his arm behind her shoulders and pull her close to him, until her head lay on his chest and her arm was draped over his waist. "Me neither."

/

"Why do you guys always have to ruin my day by getting pineapple pizza?" Daisy demanded. "It's fruit. Why do we pretend like this is normal?"

"Daisy, you may excuse yourself from this table and from this family," Jo ordered. "The rest of us don't need to hear those blasphemous words at the dinner table."

Selina chuckled, quietly helping her pick the pineapple off of her slice. "I'm with you, Kid. These plants are out of control."

"Your Uncle Anthony likes broccoli _and_ pineapple on his pizza," Harley revealed. "So if you think you got it rough…just imagine what Duke's going through."

"Yeah, that's true," Selina kissed Daisy on the head, a smile on her face. "You have to count your blessings, Kid."

"Then what kind of toppings do you like, Daisy?" Carrie asked. "Maybe you can choose next time."

A smile lit up Daisy's face. "I like anchovies."

"Sissy, that's disgusting." Delilah stated frankly from the other side of the table. "I'm not puttin' no stinkin' fish in my mouth."

"Sorry, Mom. Lost another one." Jo gave Pam a comforting pat on the back.

Pam looked at her daughter confusedly for a second before she understood the joke, but when she did, her response was: "you're an idiot."

Kate departed just after dinner, as they hadn't finished eating until around 10pm. Jo took the kids to bed soon after that, and Selina made sure she'd kissed all three of them goodnight.

"You're a good mom, Jolene," Selina told her, giving her a kiss on the cheek as well. "And I'd say, all in all, you turned out pretty alright."

Jo laughed. "Uh, thanks, Kitty. I appreciate that."

"Of course," Selina smiled after her.

Carrie and Courtney retreated up the stairs next, but not before Selina ran a hand through Carrie's hair, ruffling it like she used to when she was younger. "Love you guys."

Selina had never seen Carrie smile so big, her cheeks instantly flushing with color. "I love you too, M—Selina," she recovered, glancing down at her feet in embarrassment for a moment at almost having moved into uncharted territory. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah," Selina squeezed her wrist as Courtney pulled gently on the other one.

"We should probably get going," Harley said. "Thanks for having us over. Way more eventful than the night of quiet reading and self-reflection Pam had planned for us."

Selina laughed. "Pamela Isley: party animal."

"Something like that," Harley chuckled, ignoring Pam's semi-offended scoff.

Leaning down, Selina wrapped Harley into a hug. "It was good to see you," she murmured. "Really, I appreciate it."

"Of course, you fucking weirdo," Harley punched her in the arm once Selina pulled back. "I'll tell Anthony he was missed."

"Please do," Selina agreed before turning to Pam and reaching out to shake her hand.

Pam looked at her oddly, but obliged the gesture, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. Selina just smiled, an emotion in her eyes that Pam couldn't quite put her finger on. _Appreciation, maybe?_

Soon it was just Selina and Damian left on the ground floor of Wayne Manor, and as she closed the front door on Harley and Pam, Selina exhaled contentedly.

Reentering the grand living room, she found Damian sitting on the couch, his head back and his eyes closed.

"You tired?" she asked, coming to sit down next to him.

"I really, really am," he told her.

Selina ran a hand through his hair, the movement gentler than with Carrie—softer, different. "You look a lot like him," she murmured, and from the way Damian's jaw tightened, it was clear he knew exactly who she was talking about. "And people who'd never met Talia used to say you looked a lot like me." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I used to let them think that."

Damian opened his eyes, turning to look at her. "Why aren't you wearing your makeup?"

Selina sighed, resting her head against his shoulder, knowing it was different than how they usually related to each other, but not really caring. Not tonight. "I didn't feel like lying to myself today." She closed her eyes, listening to his breathing in the quiet room. "Damian?"

"Yeah?"

"Your wife isn't going to leave you." Selina told him. "That feeling in your chest? The weight that crushes your lungs when you look at her and see something beautiful, but look at yourself and see something broken? It's called fear, and you don't fucking need it. Jo's broken too, just like the rest of us. It's an occupational hazard. I promise you she'll still be here when the sun comes up."

"It's the—," he had to stop to clear his throat, emotion heavy in his voice, "first time I've felt unsure around her since she was 18. I told her I loved her like the 3rd time we slept together, Mom." He suddenly stopped cold, and Selina's own heart skipped a beat.

 _Mom_.

Legally she was his Mother. In her heart he was her son. But never…they'd never used the word. Carrie hadn't either, but it was obvious she'd wanted to. Damian, though…

She'd been waiting. For a long time, she'd been waiting—without even knowing it, perhaps. She never thought she'd need the words, need to hear them from his mouth, she was prepared to leave without them…but now she wanted to keep it. Trap it close to her chest.

 _Mom_.

"Damian," Selina sat up straighter to look him in the eye. "It's all going to be OK."

/

 _"_ _You shouldn't be here."_

 _Catwoman prickled at the voice, though her hands deftly continued their work on the safe. "And you should know better than to tell me what to do," was her answer._

 _She felt him approach, his feet silent as he crossed the space between them. "Don't make me take you in again," he growled into her ear._

 _Catwoman smiled slyly, turning her head just barely, just enough so that their lips almost touched. "That implies you can catch me," she breathed._

 _The safe clicked, the door swinging open to reveal the necklace she'd come for, proudly displayed front and center, the yellow diamond flickering like the eye of a cat._

 _"_ _You're cornered, Cat."_

 _"_ _Oh, Bat," she sighed disappointedly, removing the necklace and clasping it around her own neck. "You have so little imagination…"_

 _"_ _Or perhaps you're just delusional," he retorted._

 _She grinned, turning slowly, running a lazy finger down his chest once they'd arrived face to face. "Shall we find out?"_

Selina fingered her necklace, turning the yellow diamond over and over again against her skin, watching her reflection in the glass case…the one Bruce had dedicated to her.

Villain, anti-hero, amoral, selfish, cunning, loyal. Whatever she'd been, whatever she was, Bruce had given her that case. Her suit stood behind glass just like the others. Between Harleen's first Batgirl suit—the one still stained with blood and torn with a bullet hole—and Ivy's bodysuit, the one she ultimately retired in favor of her leotard after her mutation.

 _Catwoman_ , the plaque read.

Her hands didn't shake as she keyed in the code, nor did her heart beat faster when the glass door swung open.

She raised herself up onto her tip-toes, and with nimble fingers, lifted her goggles off of her costume's hood, freeing it from her cat ears.

"You don't mind, do you?" she addressed the suit, smiling to herself as she took a step backwards, keying in the code to shut the door on Catwoman.

/

 _She's not safe_

Pam sat bolt upright, her heart hammering against her chest, sweat beading her brow.

 _Go now. Before the sun rises._

She quickly obliged, pushing the blankets back and pulling herself to her feet, toes curling on the wood floor. She crossed to the dresser before realizing this may not be the type of occasion you get dressed up for. Pulling her t-shirt over her head and stepping out of her underwear, she let out a whimper of pain as leaves grew over her skin, some poking through from underneath and some simply spreading over the surface, eventually settling into the shape of her leotard.

But in her haste, she hadn't been careful, and Harley stirred, eyes bleary as they reluctantly blinked open. "What'er ya gettin' all dressed up for, Red?" It was common practice for Harley to slip back into her accent if she started speaking before she had a chance to think.

"I don't know," Pam answered almost-truthfully.

"Well, that's weird," Harley squinted into the darkness. "You OK?"

"Yes," Pam responded immediately. "Yes, but I have to go."

Harley yawned, allowing her eyes to flutter closed once more. "Whatever you say, Pammy."

Ivy navigated the city quickly, never more grateful to Bruce for the assortment of cars she had to choose from until this moment.

She found her in a construction site. Well…at the top of a construction site, really. On the arm of a tower crane.

Ivy made short work of the long climb, her vines wrapping around the metal, carrying her gracefully upwards.

"Selina!"

The woman looked back over her shoulder at her, her Catwoman goggles perched atop her head, the wind whipping at her leather jacket, biting through the holes in her jeans. "You nosy bitch," she chuckled.

"How'd you get up here?!" Pam demanded, her vines wrapping around her legs and securing her to the metal where she stood, anchored. "You're 80 years old!"

"79," Selina haughtily corrected before turning her gaze back towards Gotham's skyline. She could see the whole city from this vantage point. "And it's amazing what you can accomplish when you're not planning to come back down."

"What do you mean?" Pam had to yell to be heard over the wind.

Selina turned back around, a soft smile gracing her features. "Here, come sit down." She patted the place beside her.

Pam had to stop her hair from whipping in her face before she could move, crossing the precarious, creaking metal slowly, her vines keeping her upright until she reached Selina and obliged her, taking a seat next to her, her legs hanging over the side, a towering 265m in the air.

"I'm done, Pam," Selina told her, her expression serene. "I'm ready to be done."

Pam was almost too shocked to respond. Selina was…Selina was her friend! Selina was Selina! This isn't how it was supposed to end. She was supposed to claw and scratch and fight until her final second. That was the Selina she knew. "Why?"

"Catwoman saved me," she answered. "Catwoman and Bruce. And now it's just me, and it doesn't seem all that worth it. What's a Cat without her Bat? I don't know just me anymore. I don't care to know her."

"Then why are you dressed like that?" Ivy asked, referring to the outfit that only still fit Selina because of the nearly 25lbs she'd lost after Bruce's death. She'd been fit before, still, even for her advanced age. But now she was…gaunt. Jo had pointed it out to Pam a week prior, but of course she'd brushed it off. Thought it was a natural part of the mourning process. Now she realized it may have been something different.

Selina looked down at herself. "Because it's who I am. I evaded and escaped her for most of my life, but like everything else, she caught up with me like I knew she would. That little girl was alone, just like I am now."

"Selina—Gaia—you're not a teenaged prostitute anymore, and you're not alone," Pam told her firmly. "You've raised a family; you have lifelong friends. You're not her anymore."

Selina smiled, interlacing their fingers. "Sure I am. Just like you're still that woman bound to the table. You can leave that behind, but it will always follow you, always be a part of you. No reason to hate yourself, I certainly don't hate _my_ self—I'm just not interested in me anymore. I'm ready for a new adventure, one this world can't offer me."

"So tonight was just…what? Your going away party?"

Selina sighed. "I will admit I expected it to be grander."

Pam was almost disguised at this point. This whole thing was silly. 6 hours ago they'd been happily sitting at the dinner table together, 30 minutes ago Pam had been sound asleep in bed. She hadn't planned to lose her friend tonight. She'd been given no warning. There'd been no cry for help…or perhaps there had been. "I can't just let you die, Selina."

"Why not?" she asked. "You let Bruce die."

It didn't sound like Selina was holding that against her, more just…stating a fact. "Yes, because it was his time."

"And who gets to decide that?" Selina wondered. "Who gets to decide when it's my time? If I say it is, who has the authority to override me? You? That doesn't make any sense. Who are you? Why does your opinion matter?"

"Selina, you can't die," Pam reasoned like this was all one of Selina's ridiculous flights of fancy.

"No, _you_ can't die," Selina corrected her. "I can, and I will. I'm ready to. I've arrived and I'm tired."

"What about Damian?" Pam asked, honestly surprised that was her question. "He's already so broken after Bruce. How can you do this to him?"

Selina looked down at their joined hands with a sigh. "39…" she shook her head. "He's 39 years old already. At 39 I was drunk and angry. Felt as old as I am now. I sincerely hope he gets the new lease on life that I did. I hope he leans on the person he chose, and I hope he eventually realizes this world—this life…it only really makes sense if you force it to. That's a lesson Jo learned a while back, I think. It's why he needs her. Damian can't take anything in stride. Everything feels personal to him."

Pam looked down too, studying how Selina's untreated skin glowed in the early morning light, as the sun began to peak between the gray buildings of the city below them. "So your idea is to desensitize him to tragedy by killing yourself?"

"No," Selina chuckled, kissing her on the cheek before rising to her feet, still grasping Pam's hand firmly in her own. "My reasoning for this is entirely selfish."

Pam felt tears spring unbidden to her eyes as she watched her friend brace against the wind, breathing in the fresh air that only existed at this altitude. "I could catch you, if you jump."

"But you won't," Selina smiled down at her. "I'm glad you're here, though. I know you can sing. Can I request some Sarah McLachlan?"

Resigning herself to the reality of the situation, Pam brought their joined hands to her lips, planting a soft kiss on Selina's before murmuring: "no."

Selina chuckled, turning her focus to the city, the sun bright on the horizon, the wind in her face. She dropped Pam's hand after one last squeeze and pulled her goggles down over her eyes. "Fuck, what a life, am I right?"

"I thought you had 9," Pam forced a smile.

"We'll see," Selina grinned. "Promise me you won't miss me too much."

Pam wiped a tear from her eye. "I can't."

"Good," Selina nodded. "I'll see you next time, Ives. Or—actually—," she grabbed Ivy by the shoulders, pulling her into a kiss full on the lips.

Pam closed her eyes, her hands coming to fist in Selina's short gray hair.

Selina was smiling broadly when they broke apart, color in her cheeks for the first time in three months. "Totally worth it."

And with that, Selina released her, spreading her arms wide like she was getting ready for an Olympic dive, filling her chest with air for the last time…and launching into the dawn, as graceful as ever.

 ** _In loving memory of_**

 ** _Selina Kyle_**

 ** _Friend, Mother, Stealer of Hearts_**

 ** _1967-2046_**

 ** _"_** ** _Live fast. Love hard. Die young. Leave a good-smelling corpse."_**


	73. Chapter 73

"I have to go," Jo pushed back from the table in a hurry without so much as a look in her Mother's direction before she exited the room, heading for the stairs.

Damian stared resolutely at an obscure spot on the table, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, rhythmically tapping his ring finger against the stained wood, the metal of his wedding band clacking against the hard surface.

"She wanted to make it clear this wasn't about you," Pamela was saying. "It was a personal decision, and her mind…it was made up."

"But you were there," he said, slowing the speed of his tapping. "You, a metahuman of nearly immeasurable power. You, a former ward of Arkham Asylum who has been married to a psychiatrist for the last 45 years and should therefore be intimately familiar with the fact that suicidal thoughts or actions are indicative of mental illness, and _not_ something to even be humored, let alone honored. You were sitting right there next to her," he raised his eyes to meet hers. "And you let her jump."

"Damian…" Pam started, her eyes glossy. "She was a grown woman. An _old_ woman. I couldn't—who was I to stop her?"

"Her friend," he answered immediately. "Her best friend. That should have been enough." He rose from the table as Carrie sniffed, quietly wiping her eyes with a tissue that she bunched up in her fist. "Please leave."

Pam swallowed, she'd expected this, although she assumed he would seem more…hysterical. "Damian, I just…she was happy. She wasn't out of control, she was resolute, she was—,"

"Get out of my house!" he roared, cutting her off. "Now. Leave. You staying here to mourn her with us would be a vain, masturbatory exercise on your part. Perhaps Harleen will be more sympathetic. Regardless, I hope you're reminded every day of your eternity on this planet that you alone allowed this to happen."

Pam nodded slowly, getting to her feet. "And perhaps, one day, you'll realize I had to."

/

The last time Harley had seen Pam look so downtrodden was the day she found her in the hallway after her TV interview, the one where she outed herself as a rape victim. The difference here, though, was that Pam wasn't crying.

Harley was—definitely. She'd been crying all morning. But Pam seemed to be in a world of her own.

She lay in bed with her arm wrapped around Harley now, holding her close to her chest, forfeiting her t-shirt for the purposes of a snot, slobber, and tear receptacle.

"It just…now what am I supposed to do?" Harley sniffed. "She was my only f—f—friend."

"That's simply not true," Pam murmured, carding her fingers gently through Harley's hair. "You still have Barbara, and Dick, and…well, Selina must have introduced us to that Kate woman last night because she knew we'd have to fill a hole."

"I can't just fill a hole, Pamela!" Harley struggled prop herself up. "I've known Selina for almost 50 years! Saw her just about every day! She knew all my secrets, our kids married each other for Christ's sake. She can't be—she can't be _replaced_."

Pam didn't respond right away. In fact, she barely even acknowledged Harley's words, just continued absently playing with her hair, twisting the blonde locks around her finger. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Harley wiped her nose on Pam's shirt. "Why are you asking me that?"

Pam pursed her lips, letting her fingers migrate from Harley's hair to her face where they trailed slowly down her cheek. "Plants feed off of the rotting carcasses of their brothers, their sisters, their mothers, their fathers…use the raw material of what once was to become something new. That's…all I know about death, really. It's the only death I can ever hope to understand. But even still, plant or human, I'll never be able to see the other side. Never see what lies beyond, where everything leaves to…will Selina's soul be recycled just like her body? Will it be of any use to a new organism? Where are her memories? Are they floating somewhere in the cosmos? Buried underground, deep in the earth, never to be uncovered…or are they gone forever. Useless, wasted on only one life. A simple life, in the grand scheme of things. For someone who loomed so large in my life for so long. For someone I loved…it all seems rather insignificant. Her death, her departure. I just…want to know if whatever is behind that locked door that I'll never have the key for—I want to know if it's worth it. If she'll matter there."

"Do you—," Harley wiped her eyes. "Do you want her to?"

"Yes," Pam answered, tears finally gathering in her eyes. "Yes, I want her to feel…complete, and…fulfilled. I want Bruce to be there with her, by her side somehow…I don't know how, and I will never know—I can't, but I…I wonder."

Harley sniffed. "Well, I guess we finally found something you didn't have the answers for."

"Other, more fantastic phenomena," Pam mumbled. "That exceeds even the wildest imagination."

Tears fell down Harley's cheeks as she blinked. "What?"

Pam just shook her head, pressing a kiss to the place just below Harley's eye, the woman's tears salty on her lips.

/

Jo cleared her throat, her index finger hovering nervously over the intercom button. But after another glance at her watch, it was sort of unavoidable. "Damian?"

He continued on with his simulation as if he hadn't heard her—maybe he actually didn't or maybe he was just ignoring her, either way…

She slowly powered down the environment, and as the last dummy disappeared, enveloped back into the floor with the others, he spun around angrily towards the glass.

"I wasn't done!"

"It's 10:30," she told him, her finger holding the microphone in the on position so they could speak while she remained in the control room. "We have to go."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"10:30pm, Damian." Jo specified. "Gotham needs us…or whatever."

He heatedly tossed his VR headset aside and grabbed his water bottle before wrenching the door open, his eyes falling on Jo where she stood by the control panel in her suit. "Where's Duke?"

"With Cass," she told him. "Figured we could patrol together tonight, just in case you wanted to—umm—talk or something, I don't know."

Taking a drink of his water was really the only response Damian gave, and obviously that's really not much of a response at all. After that, he exited the room, slamming the door behind him even though Jo had yet to come out.

"Fantastic," she muttered, opening the door to follow after him.

The Batmobile was running with Jo in the driver's seat by the time Damian was ready, his mask already down over his face.

"I'm driving," he said, his words threatening when filtered through the modulator.

"Uh…OK…" Jo climbed over to the passenger seat, electing to choose her battles. "Carrie?" she called over to where the woman was sitting at the desk, her shoulders slumped, bloodshot green eyes magnified by her glasses. "I think we'll go radio silence for tonight. Just…send us the coordinates if you spot anything, alright?"

Carrie nodded mutely, far from her typically bubbly self.

Jo might have offered her a hug if Damian hadn't climbed into the car then and shut the roof. "Seatbelt?" she suggested as he put the car in gear.

"Life doesn't give you seatbelts," he gritted in response, speeding off of the platform and down the tunnel.

"Cool. I feel super safe right now," Jo said under her breath as she closed her mask, bracing herself on the door when he roughly nicked the cement siding.

An alert came in once they crossed into Central Gotham. "Umm…looks like a jewelry store robbery. Two guys and a getaway driver…three blocks over, that's easy money," Jo said, her eyes on the monitor.

"No."

Jo turned to him. "Damian, it'll take us like two seconds, really. Just take a right here."

"No," he repeated, taking a left in direct opposition to her instructions. "I'm not taking in any thieves tonight."

She narrowed her eyes beneath her mask, watching his movements closely. "Seems like you have something in mind."

Damian didn't respond, just took another turn, heading towards the waterfront.

"This isn't like a _Snapped_ thing, is it? Because I'm all for dealing with your grief in your own way, but I'll fight you if I have to."

But he stopped short of the waterfront, taking a left on a parallel street rather than continuing down, and…OK, his plan for that evening was beginning to come into focus. "For once in your life, Jolene, do yourself a favor and shut the fuck up."

"Copy that," she sat back in her seat, resigning herself to second fiddle for the night. She'd loved Selina. The woman had been a second Mother to her, and a friend, always…but her loss would never feel as visceral to Jo as it would to Damian, and she was planning to allow him to cope with his loss however he needed. The same curtesy he'd paid her after Jason.

But, to her surprise, he didn't stop next to the car who was clearly cruising the local talent…nor the next one, or the one after that. Instead, he pulled right up to the street corner and retracted the roof, stepping out onto the curb.

None of the women standing there seemed to know what to do with what was happening. Jo included. What the fuck _was_ happening?

Eventually, the woman closest to them on the street corner—mid-40s, by the looks of her, seemed like she'd been doing this a while—took a brave step forward. "H—hey, Baby," there was a nervous stutter in what Jo guessed was her typical approach. "You lookin' for a good time?"

"No, thank you," Damian answered plainly. "My wife's in the car."

The women all leaned to peer around him, and Jo gave an awkward wave from the passenger seat. "It's date night," she told them.

"She's a—uh—real looker," the woman offered.

"Better without the mask," Damian informed them. "Of that I can assure you."

"Yeah, I beg to differ!" Jo shouted.

He turned around to give her what she guessed was a warning look, but of course his true expression was obscured. "What did I say?"

"Sorry, shutting up," she apologized.

"Y'all have little bat-babies too?" the woman asked, drawing some nervous laughter from the women behind her.

"Yes," Damian deadpanned. "Three, actually. Parenthood is far more difficult than I thought it would be. What about you? Do any of you have children?"

It took a moment, as they clearly weren't yet sure if his intentions…but eventually a woman near the back did timidly raise her hand, and then another, and two more. In the rear-view mirror, Jo could see the cars behind them speeding off. Perhaps just seeing the Batmobile was menacing enough.

"Yeah, I got one," the woman in the front said. "Little girl. What's it to ya?"

"I have two of those," Damian revealed, reaching for one of the compartments on his suit that quickly spat out…his wallet? "They can be a real handful. Now," he opened the wallet and reached into one of the pockets. "Are any of you familiar with SmartCards?"

That question drew a lot of confused head shakes.

"Well, they're essentially cash cards, but ones that can only be used for specific purchases, like lodging, food, basic household necessities, and clothing." Damian told them. "Those of you who told me you had children will be receiving a card with $60,000 on it, just above the median yearly income in the United States. And for the rest of you, your cards will contain $52,000, which is more or less the exact median. Now, I don't mean to sound patronizing," he pulled the cards out one by one, the ones containing the higher value black rather than charcoal gray. "But please don't attempt to purchase narcotics with these cards, and please don't give them away to your pimps—if you have one. As soon as I hand them to you, they'll record and save your fingerprints and require it to make a purchase."

It took a while for him to pass them all out to the appropriate parties, but as he returned to the Batmobile, with tears in her eyes the first woman said: "Thank you, Batman and Batman's creepy-ass wife!"

"'Jason's girl' to 'Batman's creepy-ass wife'," Jo mused as Damian closed the roof over them. "I sure have come a long way."

Damian didn't respond, just sped off back the way they'd come—noticeably still without a seatbelt.

"So…" Jo began once they'd traveled a few blocks, continuing down to the port now, their wheels skating easily over the wood of the docks. "You want to talk a little about that, maybe? You just gave away like $240,000."

"Our family owns nearly the entire waterfront," he answered, and though it didn't seem to be in direct response to her question, Jo was happy he was at least talking about something…even if it was information she'd already had regurgitated at her a million times.

"Really?" she prompted him further.

"Yes, my paternal Grandfather…"

 _Bought the docks so any company shipping through the port would have to pay him a usage fee._

"Bought the docks so any company shipping through the port would have to pay him a usage fee."

 _Oh, ya don't say…_

"All of this…" Damian gestured out the window at the passing warehouses. "We own it. Our family's name is on it. Essentially the entirety of Gotham City…it pays rent to us. To you and I."

 _Huh…_ Jo honestly hadn't really thought that much about what Selina's death truly meant. It was more than the end of an era; it was nearly the end of a generation. They were on their own with all this stuff now. "That's…pretty stressful," she admitted.

Damian nodded in agreement. "Yes. And I am… _afraid_." He said it like the word was foreign to him. "My Father expanded our family's wealth, just like his Father before him. I just…cut ribbons and smile pretty for the camera. That office they gave me is just for show—Luke does all the real work."

 _So that's what the whole Luke thing was about. Jesus, what's with all this fragile masculinity?_ Jo opened her mask so that he could hear this in her actual voice. Somehow she didn't think it would land as well delivered through the modulator. "I think men are too quick to want to put their name on things. To claim something, or whatever." She began. "What I've learned—especially after having kids and _having_ to constantly ask for help because I literally _could not_ do it on my own—was that life is sorta like a giant group project. Sure, you can try to go at it alone, and for a second it might seem easier to go that route—but in the long run, it's always better to collaborate. And the great thing about the position you're in now, the one you were born into, is that your name's already on the building, Babe," she reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "Everything this company does, whether it's good or bad, whether you were in the office when it happened or just signed the check…it's all you. You're the only one with the last name, out of all your siblings. You are Mr. Wayne. That's all you need to be remembered. Well…that and that tweet someone sent after our wedding that just said 'I'd totally watch their sex tape.' That shall live on forever…screenshotted…on every phone I've owned and will own for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, and we're still not doing that, by the way." Damian informed her.

"Well, you're no fun," Jo pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, watching out the windshield as he pulled the Batmobile into an abandoned car lot. Well…more like a junkyard, by the looks of it. There were a lot of those still around, dumping sites for old gas-guzzling cars, the kind that were outlawed now thanks to the 'clean automobiles' initiative Poison Ivy somehow managed to get unanimously passed through both houses of congress (*cough* pheromones *cough*).

Jo was about to ask what they were doing there when Damian opened the roof and shut the car off, jumping out and offering his hand so that she could do the same.

"Follow me," he instructed, kicking the lock on the gate open with a single swing of his leg.

"My goodness!" Jo gasped. "So strong. So rugged. Sweep me off my feet, my lumberjack."

"I'm letting that slide because Mom would have laughed," Damian told her, shutting the gate behind them and leading her through a maze of broken down cars, their metal rusting, headlight's hanging half out of their sockets…it was all a bit eerie with the moon shining above them, the creaks and groans of the aging, outdated corpses that surrounded them…

But ' _Mom_ '…that made Jo smile. It'd taken Damian a long time to arrive there, and to see that his anger wasn't aimed at Selina the way it was at Bruce was refreshing. She wondered if he ever got that ' _I love you_ '…

"Here," Damian stopped in front of a stack of four cars piled on top of each other. "Climb."

Jo looked at him questioningly, wishing he'd retract his mask so she could get some inkling as to what was going on with him. But he just gave her a nod, and with a sigh, she obliged, grabbing the door handle on the second car and pulling herself up.

Damian followed behind her, and soon they'd both scaled the pile.

"Oh, wow…" Jo said, letting her feet dangle over the other side. "You can see the whole bay from here."

"Yes," Damian acknowledged, his mask finally pulling back from his face. "And thanks to your Mother…" he took a deep breath as the breeze blew gently at them. "It no longer smells like rotting sewage."

"Don't give her all the credit. Mera helped," Jo reminded him, looking out over the water that—in her lifetime—had changed from a murky brown to a far healthier blue. "I'm sorry about your parents. I know that's not enough, but…I really am sorry."

"And I'm sorry Daisy slapped you in the face this morning when you told her," Damian said, interlacing their gloved fingers. "That's a poor coping mechanism that we should probably try to train her out of."

"Well, hopefully she won't have to say goodbye to any more grandparents any time soon, so that reaction won't be necessary," Jo exhaled. "But, for the record, that kid's a villain waiting to happen."

Damian just shook his head, though not in disagreement. "The last thing she said to me…before 'goodnight', was 'It's going to be alright'." He murmured. "And now it seems her mind was already made up about killing herself, so really, that meant without her. She said you'd be there when the sun came up...and—,"

"You make it sound so noble."

Damian and Jo both stiffened immediately, both feeling exceedingly stupid for letting their guard down so completely.

 _Fuck, she's sneaky._

"Her cowardice finally caught up to her," Talia continued behind them. "Wouldn't exactly call hers a life worth celebrating, either."

Jo felt Damian's hand tighten around her own, and she made sure to close her mask before turning around. "Who are you, again?"

Talia smirked. "That's cute, but I'm here to talk to my son."

"Oh, you lost a son?" even with the modulator Jo's tone was condescending. "That's so sad. Damian and I were just sitting here mourning his Mother and discussing how we're not absent parents. You should join us!"

"Damian," Talia tried a more direct approach, ignoring Jo altogether. "I think it's time we reconcile. Now that those toxic influences are out of your life—,"

"—I'm really not in the mood for this, Talia," Damian muttered.

"—and the Wayne fortune and the Batman mantle have officially been passed down to you and your…house plant," she continued, either not hearing Damian or not caring.

"Umm…OUCH?" Jo stood up, turning to face Talia fully despite Damian's silent insistence that she stay put. "Demoting me to something sub-human is a bit of a low blow, don't you think?"

"Yes, that was my intention," Talia doubled down. "Like I said, I came to talk to my son. As far as I'm concerned, you don't have a seat at the table…aside from the one Damian provides you. So I'd thank you to quiet down and let the adults talk."

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," Damian growled. "I'm mourning. My Father is dead. My Mother is dead."

"No, your Mother is standing right here," Talia corrected. "It wasn't Selina's place to claim you. I never would have given you up if I'd known that tramp was there to stay."

Damian shot up to his feet, reaching around for his swords in one fluid motion. "Say that again!" he roared, his anger visible through his open mask—jaw tight, eyes blazing. "Attempt to demean her again in my presence."

Slowly, Talia reached for her own swords, which were strapped to her back and crafted in a very similar style as Damian's.

"Yeah, I was just gonna say: who brings a sword to a family discussion?" Jo pointed out. "This all seems sort of premeditated."

"You have a son of you own now, Damian," Talia, again, failed to acknowledge Jo's presence, confidently spinning one of her swords around in her hand. "Let me teach him, as my Father taught my sister and I. As I taught you."

"I was three years old when you gave me up. What could you possibly have taught me other than what it feels like to be unwanted?" Damian questioned, taking a step closer.

"Cool, so is this gonna be like a duel amongst gentleman type thing?" Jo wondered. "Or can I join in? or…what are the ground rules here, I don't want to step on any toes."

Jo got her answer when Talia suddenly thrust her weapon forward, aiming for Jo's stomach, and she had to suddenly jerk herself backwards to avoid it, toppling off of the pile of cars and landing with a painful _crunch_ in a heap of metal scraps on the ground below.

Damian swung angrily at Talia in response…and just from that first strike Jo knew he was going to lose. Not because he was an inferior swordsman or lacked the necessary combat skills—but because he was emotional and out of control.

Why would Talia even bring her weapons if she came to appeal to him? Was this some sort of assassin's code thing? Did Damian understand what was going on or did this feel as out of the blue to him as it did to Jo? Either way, Talia seemed to have his number. Blocking every strike, her own slices and stabs coming dangerously close with each move.

With a groan of discomfort, Jo crawled off of the metal, glad her suit had armored itself on the way down, but not fond of the wind being knocked out of her. By the time she'd climbed back up the pile of cars, Talia and Damian had moved their battle to the next one, this stack two cars higher and occupying the last available space next to the fence before the water.

And just as Jo thought Talia was pushing Damian treacherously close to the edge, she stabbed forward and he lost his footing in a similar manner as Jo had only moments earlier, though he had quicker reflexes and dropped the sword from his right hand to grab onto the uppermost door's handle. His sword fell into the harbor below them, swallowed up by the dark water, while the other dangled from his left hand.

"Hey! Alright, you won!" Jo shouted, leaping from car to car until she'd joined them on the highest stack. "Now what the fuck do you want?"

"For my son to acknowledge that I am his Mother," Talia answered, looking over the precipice to where Damian dangled—the top car at such an angle that the overhang was too great for him to get a solid foothold. "And for his children to do the same."

"A mother," Damian yelled up at her, "is the woman who feeds you, bathes you, and clothes you. The woman who is there for you when you wake up and tucks you in before bed. Selina Kyle was my Mother, Talia. You were just the egg donor."

Without even a moment's hesitation, Talia swung her sword downward, and though from her vantage point, Jo had no idea what she hit, the cry of pain Damian emitted was like nothing Jo had ever heard before. Not from Damian, at least.

Next she heard a splash as he fell into the water, and in an immediate reaction she whipped a batarang at Talia, the weapon sticking deep in the woman's thigh. "Did you cut his fucking hand off?" Jo screamed. "Who does that?! This isn't _Star Wars_! You're not Darth Vader!"

Talia yanked the batarang out of her leg, tossing it into the water, blood dripping from her wound. "Would you like to go next?" she asked, spinning one of her swords again, the other one Jo noticed was absent.

"Uh, I'm actually more of a blunt-force-trauma-type-gal," Jo admitted, backing up and dropping to her knees to reach down through the sunroof of the car they were standing on and rummage around. Her hand eventually wrapped around something metal and cylindrical and… "Oh, lucky me," she laughed, pulling the crowbar up. "This is actually my weapon of choice."

"What's so funny?" Talia asked, her tone biting.

"Nah," Jo waved her off, getting back to her feet. "It's one of those 'you had to be there' type things." She swung the crowbar quickly, grabbing Talia's sword in the crook of her weapon and wrenching it around out of her hand.

With Talia's hands free, Jo lowered her head to tackle her, assuming that Talia was a more strategic boxer than she, but that she'd be able to control the ground game if they got down on the mat as she was willing to bet she was the stronger of the two. But as Jo went to wrap her arms around Talia's waist, the older woman kneed her in the forehead. And although she was wearing her mask, that blow dazed her for long enough for Talia to land two quick jabs: one to her trachea and one to her stomach.

Jo gasped for air, her suit filling her helmet with extra oxygen, but Talia had already swiped her legs out from under her, and now the crowbar was in her possession.

With all her might, Talia brought the crowbar down directly on Jo's mask—aiming right for her green smile—and broke through the solar panels. The splintered shards of the glass-like panel were ground into Jo's gums and teeth, leaving her bleeding.

Talia grabbed the two sides of the hole she'd created, "Now that I wiped that stupid smile off your face…" and ripped the mask in two, revealing Jo's actual face.

Though, to her disappointment, Jo's actual mouth was turned up into a smile as well. "You're good with a sword, Talia, I'll give you that." She spat the splintered panel shards out of her mouth. "Obviously not good enough with Bruce's sword for him to want to keep you around, but—,"

Talia punched her in the face, causing her nose to spout like a faucet, and wrapped a hand around her neck for good measure, pressing her into the car's rusted metal roof.

"S—sore subject?" Jo sputtered, attempting to pry her hands away. "He get fed up with your Daddy kink? You just wanna be a good girl, right Talia? Maybe you should have fucked your real Daddy instead of putting that shit on Bruce."

"You're psychotic," Talia snarled, sounding disgusted.

Jo tried to laugh. "What, did you think I only inherited the cheekbones?" she tried a hook, aiming for the side of Talia's face, but the blow she landed was a bit awkward and obviously not painful enough to get her off.

Leaving one hand on Jo's neck, Talia used the other to reach for the crowbar, lifting it over her head.

Jo struggled beneath her, but Talia's thighs were strong, and at some point it seemed as if a piece of her armor had bent backwards because something very sharp was actively cutting into Jo's stomach.

…and that's when she saw Damian. In the corner of her field of vision he appeared, holding one of Talia's swords in much the same threatening position Talia was holding the crowbar.

"No! Damian, don't!" Jo shouted.

Talia turned, but it was too late. And if Jo thought being punched in the face by her Mother-in-law sucked, being head-butted by the decapitated version was a whole lot worse.


	74. Chapter 74

_OK…I think maybe I married my Mother._

Jo wiped the thick sheen of blood off of her face, reaching into the remnants of her mask to dig out the warm liquid that was pooling there, and flicking the excess onto the ground. "Well that was…super fucking gross."

Damian stood next to her, dripping wet, his chest still heaving, eyes still wide—stricken with fear or horror or maybe realization (?) at what he'd just done.

Talia's disembodied head lay in the dirt at their feet, her eyes staring up at them with much the same expression Damian was wearing. _They really do look alike…_

"Umm…thanks for decapitating your egg donor for me," Jo offered.

It took a moment for her words to land—it seemed as if Damian had to travel back down to Earth before he could hear them—but when he arrived back in his body, he blinked, turning away from the corpse's gaze to look at Jo. "What are friends for?"

They stood there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, the only sounds in the area coming from the groans of the rusting metal that surrounded them, and the sloshing of the water against the fence that kept it at bay.

"Ha!" Jo exclaimed like it surprised her. "Ha-ha…ha." It was somewhere between a laugh and a choke and it reverberated ominously in the space surrounding them, sounding more unsettling once Damian joined in, his laugh sounding equally crazed.

And then they were crashing together in a messy kiss, Damian's face wet against hers—from tears or the water he'd just been forced to swim in, Jo wasn't sure.

Damian was the first to pull back. "Ow!" he spat on the ground. "I cut my tongue and your mouth tastes like blood."

"Probably because there's fucking glass in there. What are you doing launching in with tongue anyway, you horndog?" Jo was now laughing hysterically, though it still sounded…painful. "And as for the blood…" she looked down at her stomach, locating the piece of her armor that had, indeed, bent back and punctured her abdomen. "I'm either bleeding internally or—you know—the glass thing. Are you OK? Do you still have a hand?"

"One and a half," he held up his right hand, which was now just a palm, a thumb, and four bloody stumps where his other fingers should have been.

"Oh my God!" Jo was yanked out of her brief fit of hysteria. "You're losing blood! We need to get you back to the cave!"

"No, the suit cut off blood supply," Damian informed her. "I'm fine, I'm just…left-handed now, I guess. Your nose is broken and you've got a piece of metal sticking out of your body."

"Is it really?" Jo went to delicately touch her nose. "How can you tell?"

"You look like Owen Wilson."

 ** _Talia al Ghul_**

 ** _Solid Assassin, Shitty Parent, Haver of Daddy Issues_**

Jo stopped writing, holding the stick upright in the dirt. "Any idea when she was born?"

"I think she was about Ivy's age," Damian answered.

 ** _Old (but kept it tight)_**

"Jolene…."

"Sorry, sorry…"

 ** _Old_**

/

Anthony squinted into the night, the porch light not exactly kind on his eyes. His striped pajama pants hung loosely off of his hips, his white v-neck t-shirt was awkwardly tucked in at the front, his hair disheveled and his slippers…Karen's. He was wearing Karen's slippers.

But even still he looked a whole hell of a lot better than the mess on his front porch. Well… _messes_ , plural.

"I take it your lives have not improved in the 48 hours since Selina died."

"You are correct," Jo affirmed, shivering in her spandex shorts and bloody tank top.

Anthony's eyes wandered to Damian, who was dressed in what was essentially the masculine version of Jo's same outfit: a wife beater and a pair of compression shorts. "You two look like you just had really, really sad, depressing sex. Like you both cried the entire time."

"Wow, two for two," Jo was impressed. "You missed your calling, Bro. Should have been a psychic—so perceptive."

"Mm…" Anthony nodded slowly, looking back and forth between them. "Is the blood yours, his, or other?"

"Other," Jo answered.

"And he doesn't talk anymore?" he indicated Damian, whose despondent expression hadn't changed since Anthony opened the door.

Jo glanced over at her husband. "Yeah, no, he's gonna need a little time."

"I notice he's also missing four fingers from his right hand."

"Mhm, yeah, we're not getting those back."

"OK," Anthony opened the door wider, as they'd answered all of his immediate questions. "Head straight for the kitchen, please, don't drip on the rug."

"What a lez," Jo chuckled as she passed him, entering the house and following his instructions, Damian mute behind her.

"My son is…"

"With Cass, safe and sound," Jo assured him when Anthony joined them in the kitchen. She pulled a bar stool out so that Damian could sit down, but he ended up just oddly leaning against it instead.

"Jesus, Jolene," they heard from the doorway, all looking to see Karen wrapping a bathrobe tighter around herself, her feet bare on the kitchen tile (as Anthony was of course wearing her slippers). "Why do you look like Owen Wilson?"

"OK, that's the second time I've heard that in the last two hours and I'm really not liking the comparison," Jo said, crossing her arms over her chest. "My nose is broken. I'm going to need one of you to realign it, please and thank you."

"Do you want to tell us _why_ it's broken while Anthony makes us some coffee?" Karen wondered, sitting down at the bar in the stool beside Damian. "Because you better have a good reason for knocking on our door half-dressed at 3am. I'm 50 years old, that's officially _too old_ for this shit."

"I really don't feel it's my place to go into more detail than we—Damian especially—has had an extraordinarily shitty last three months," Jo said. "The last 48 hours being just…we're all having a difficult time grieving and coping and…Damian is now officially an orphan. That's…that's it for now."

Jo wasn't sure if Anthony was furrowing his brow at them in contemplation or squinting because he couldn't see, but Karen could obviously tell the difference because she produced his glasses from the pocket of her robe.

"Thank you," he mumbled, pushing them up the bridge of his nose and blinking at the clarity, which provided him his first real look at his sister. "Well, now I'm thinking about _Marley & Me_ and I'm going to cry, thanks a lot, Jolene."

"Can you shut the fuck up, please?" Jo requested in the kindest tone one could possibly employ with that word choice.

Karen sighed, clearly wanting to move this little visit along. "How much blood have you lost? Why won't you close your mouth all the way? Where are Damian's fingers? Where are your suits? Where is the Batmobile? Why did you come here instead of go home? And why did you come to us instead of your parents'?...go."

Jo hopped up on the counter behind her, getting in a more comfortable position to give Karen the answers she required. "I'm fine, used the panels to recharge before I took the suit off. Someone took a crowbar to my mask and ground my smile panel into my gums, so when I close my mouth the shards still lodged in there cut my mouth and it sucks. Damian's fingers will likely need to be replaced by something robotic, unless Mom can come up with an organic solution. My suit is going to need some serious TLC, Damian's will eventually need the right glove repaired, regardless they are both in the Batmobile. The car itself is hidden, but we really need to get out of here before the sun comes up. We came here because Carrie just lost her Mother and isn't in a super awesome place emotionally and tends to worry about us like a crazy person anyway, so none of this would have helped her. And we're here because I thought seeing Mom would be triggering for Damian—he's not exactly stoked on her right now. That all?"

Anthony sighed, starting the coffee maker. "I'll go get the tweezers…"

Seeming to also be satisfied with Jo's answers, Karen turned to Damian. "Let me see your hand."

Damian didn't respond, just stared off into space, the full weight of what had happened that night—what he'd done—only recently hitting him. "Not for a second did I think about going at it another way," he murmured. "I was, in that moment, exactly what she would have made me."

"And _because_ of that instinct," Jo acknowledged, sitting forward. "I'm still here—breathing, and she'll never have the chance to plant that seed in Terry. And yes," she admitted. "As a house plant, I acknowledge and embrace the pun."

/

"Harleen, I need you to eat something. Selina would have wanted you to eat something."

"You don't know that," Harley grumbled, starring down at the table, repulsed by the selection of breakfast foods her wife had provided. Why'd she have to make pancakes _and_ waffles? _That's just weird_.

"You're undereating!"

"And you're overcompensating! Your sad-cooking is gonna make me fat!" Harley complained. "I already ate the omelet and the hash browns. Enough is enough, Pamela!"

The redhead plopped down in the chair across from her, grabbing the pancakes by the plate and pulling them over to her, where she then grabbed a fork and cut into the stack, shoving the large bite rather unceremoniously into her mouth. "I hate pancakes…" she mumbled, chewing slowly in comparison to her earlier movements.

Harley sighed. "Honey, what's the deal with all the food?"

Pam looked guiltily down at the food, swallowing what was in her mouth. "Selina got so skinny, and I didn't notice or care, maybe, and…" she was interrupted by her phone, which vibrated loudly on the wooden table.

She made no move to answer it, didn't even bother to look and see who was calling. So Harley reached over instead, her head already hurting for no apparent reason other than her body felt heavy with grief and full of calories she couldn't burn off. The number was private, but because it was only 8am and that was an odd time for any sort of promotional call, Harley answered.

"Hello?"

 _"_ _Pamela?"_ a woman's voice asked.

 _Oh my God, she's having an affair_ , was the conclusion Harley immediately jumped to. _She's probably young and pretty and most definitely has legs and—_

 _"_ _Pamela, this is Diana."_

 _Oh my God, she's having an affair with Wonder Woman. I guess it makes sense. They're both perfect and immortal and—_

 _"_ _Pamela?"_

Pam snatched the phone away from Harley's hand, looking at her strangely. "Hello? Who is this? Oh, Good morning…No, it's…of course not," Pam assured her of something, still watching Harley with a face that said 'WTF?'. "How can I help you? I'm not due in until 10…Umm, yes, I suppose. I see no reason why not…can you—give me any indication as to what this is about?...It's—no, that's fine…Yes…Yes, fine, I'll see you then." She hung up, returning the phone to its place beside her plate.

"Pam, I…I…" Harley's voice shook. "I understand the attraction, and I'm sure she can give you a lot of things that I can't, but—,"

"Harleen, what in the world are you on about?" Pam demanded.

"I don't—I don't know!" Harley sputtered. "I'm sad and I've cried too much!"

Pam sighed, getting up from the table and walking to the cupboard to grab a glass that she then filled with water before placing it gently in front of Harley. "That was Wonder Woman," she informed her. "She was wondering if you would be able to accompany me up to The Watchtower this morning. She didn't say why."

Harley allowed herself to be excited for an entire 2 seconds before reality set back in and she came to an inevitable conclusion: "Oh God, what did she do now?"

/

Ivy glanced up at the clock for the 5th time in as many minutes, murmuring: "I can't believe she's late for this."

Harley was grinning from ear to ear, spreading her hands out wide over the cool surface of the table, tapping her fingers happily on the screen in front of her. "I can't believe you get to come work here every day…" she whispered back.

Diana cleared her throat at the head of the table, and Clark shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Raven sat beside him, blowing a piece of hair out of her face, her arms remaining crossed.

They heard her before they saw her—heels clacking down the hallway, obviously at a run. She seemed to gather herself once she reached the door, as they heard a shuffling that was more than likely her trying to straighten herself out. Then she took a deep breath and cleared her throat—all audible though the door—before entering the room with all the feigned calm and confidence in the world.

"Good morning," Jo said with a smile, giving a nod to the heroes sitting around the table.

Harley frowned. "What happened to your face?"

Jo raised her hand to the thick strip of tape bridging her nose. "Uh, occupational hazard—wait, what are you doing here?" she looked questioningly from Harley to Ivy, and then over to Diana where she sat at the head of the table.

"Ms. Quinzel, your file has been reviewed…" Diana began.

"It's um—it's Mrs. Wayne, actually," Jo corrected. "Did I not file my absence request correctly?" she laughed nervously. "Why does it feel like I've been called to the principal's office?"

"This isn't a disciplinary hearing, Jolene," Diana assured her. "Please, have a seat."

Kara gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up from here she sat between Pam and Clark and Jo gingerly pulled a chair out, sitting herself down and glancing around the table expectably.

Diana cleared her throat. "You have been an active member of the Titans for the last 15 years…"

Jo laughed. "Sounds kinda sad when you say it like that…"

Clark was smiling now. "We're happy with your contribution, Jolene. Please, relax, you're getting a promotion."

Jo blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"They want you to be part of the Justice League!" Harley suddenly blurted out, overtaken by her excitement.

A smile spread slowly on Jo's lips until it manifested itself in a toothy grin, stretching ear to ear. "You're kidding."

"We don't kid, Mrs. Wayne." Even Wonder Woman herself wasn't able to ward off at least a smirk.

Kara's smile was nearly as broad as Jo's, Clark kept glancing over at Pam and Harley to see their reactions. Harley was over the moon, clearly, her eyes watering happily…but Ivy was watching Jo intently, puzzled at the darkness that'd passed through her daughter's eyes at the name 'Mrs. Wayne'.

Jo let out an odd little laugh—one that sounded somewhere between relief and irony—and leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as she ran a hand through her hair. "Fuck," she whispered, closing her eyes.

Ivy sat forward in her chair, her curiosity now crossing over into concern. "Jolene?"

"Thank you," was what Jo said as she lowered her eyes once more, subtly shaking her head as she did. "Thank you so much."

Raven raised a critical eyebrow. "Don't thank us. We're not doing you a favor."

"What she means is—," Kara quickly took the reins. "You earned it! We're lucky to have you."

Jo nodded…and then shook her head just as quickly, biting her lip as she did.

Diana's brow was furrowed in confusion as well now. "It will require more of a time commitment…"

"No," Jo said.

"Come again?"

"I can't. I'm sorry, this is…this is incredible," Jo breathed, still smiling…though not with excitement. "I've been...waiting, and…man, it feels exactly as amazing as I imagined. But…" she shook her head again. "But I think I have to respectfully decline your invitation."

"Jolene," Harley said, glancing around nervously. "This is the—this is the Justice League. That's Wonder Woman."

"Yeah, I know, Ma," Jo smiled warmly at her. "And you could have been here too, just like you could have been at the Olympics. But I've got three kids at home. 8-year-olds, all three of them. And husband who's having a really hard time. So I have to say no," she slowly stood up. "I just—uh—I have to say no."

"You're…forfeiting your spot in the Justice League for a man?" Ivy was appalled.

Jo seemed legitimately surprised by that question. "Not _a man_ , Mom. My husband. Or—you know—I guess my son if you want to extend the definition. I'm really sorry to waste everyone's time," she apologized. "And Ma, I…God, we're 0-2, aren't we? And you got dressed up. I'm so sorry, I didn't—,"

"No, you—don't apologize anymore," Harley said, wiping her eyes. "I get it, I understand."

"You asked the same thing of Mom, remember?" Jo prompted, gently. "And do you remember how happy we all were when she came home? My kids only have about one and a half parents right now, and they deserve the stability you guys gave me and Anthony."

"I know that, I understand," Harley reiterated, though her cheeks were blushed in embarrassment and she had to turn her gaze to her lap—she really had dressed up for the occasion.

"So you're willing to support Damian—as you always have—as a member of this league, while you, yourself, sit on the sidelines," Pam clarified, an edge to her tone. "All because Damian is…fragile."

Jo pursed her lips. "You can call him my wife if that makes you more comfortable with the idea of supporting someone you love through a time of hardship." Her eyes flitted back to Diana. "Thank you for the opportunity. I feel very…validated. I'll call you later, Ma," she told Harley. "We need to start with Selina's funeral arrangements."

Pam wasn't sure why she felt so…betrayed, when the door closed behind her. Why her powerlessness in that moment made her feel so hurt.

She thought back to her first personnel meeting, when Jo's file had come up and she'd vehemently argued against her Titans inclusion…on the grounds that Jolene got too easily overwhelmed and already had a laundry list of mounting responsibilities in her personal life.

 _Oh._

So Jo knew, then. Understood that about herself.

But that…that should have felt like a victory for Pamela. Should have been the reward for years of difficulty helping her daughter navigate the world and herself.

Perhaps…perhaps the thought of working with her daughter in a way she'd been unable to work with her wife after Harley's accident and Ivy's admittance into the Justice League had grown on her. Perhaps she'd even become fond of the idea. Excited at the thought of seeing her daughter in a competent light, a view she'd deprived herself of during Jolene's gymnastics career. She hadn't been there for her meets. She'd stayed away from them, finding the concept either too unimportant or too heartbreaking to fully witness.

Or maybe it was just…guilt. Pamela desperately wanting to provide her daughter another opportunity to do something she loved—something she was passionate about. Batgirl was all Jolene had wanted to be growing up. She'd never had any career aspirations besides 'gymnast'. Batgirl was her future. Pam had known it, Harley had known it, Jo had known it, Anthony had known it, even Bruce had known it. From the moment he'd met Anthony, and the moment he met Jolene, Bruce knew she was the one who'd be wearing the suit someday. And now Bruce was gone, Selina was gone, and Damian was evidently hanging on by a thread.

For a moment…for one strange moment…Pam had thought that the Bat she would be forced to collaborate with would be her own flesh and blood. What a bizarre notion. The ranking Bat only a Wayne by marriage…

Or maybe…

Ivy glanced over at Harleen, who was still starring down into her lap.

Maybe she was afraid that Jolene would live another small life. A life of unrealized potential. All the talent and skill to go to the Olympics, but no medals. The Bat, but always just Of Gotham. A life lived for her children and for her spouse…

 _Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it_.

25 years ago, Harleen had held Pamela when she cried in that hallway. Carried her up to bed and tucked her in. Given her a bath, rubbed those shapes into her skin…and told her she was afraid—afraid of only being remembered as someone's wife. Of only mattering in relation to Pamela.

Pamela couldn't help her with that. She could try…but at the end of the day, she needed Harleen. Needed her to be her wife. And Jolene was…an apology, maybe. Their second child. A girl. A gift to right their wrongs, to raise a daughter as they'd wished to be raised.

But the result…was much the same.

/

"Hey, I'm home!" Jo called out, shutting the front door behind her. She sighed as she set her purse in the closet.

Nearby, she heard bare feet pitter-patter down the hallway—boy feet, she could tell.

"Mom!" Terry burst out into the foyer, wearing a tuxedo and one of Damian's old Robin masks, because that made sense. "Will you play…" he trailed off when he saw her nose. "Umm…Mom? I think…maybe you look prettier without what is on your nose?"

"Ah, a startling revelation and an apt assessment, Master Terrence," she agreed, leaning down. "You wanna rip it off?"

"Can I?!"

"Yeah, just—MOTHERF—of pearl." Terry had jumped the gun just a bit, ripping the tape off before she could finish her instructions. "Oww…" she wrinkled her nose. "Alright, how does it look? Straight?"

"Is straight good?" Terry wondered.

"Well, yeah," Jo laughed. "Who wouldn't want a straight nose?"

"I thought you'd want yours to be bi."

Jo blinked. "Did you…come up with that joke all by yourself?"

"Yep!" Terry proudly reported. "Just now."

Jo straightened up to laugh. "You're pretty funny."

"Yeah, I know," he grinned, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her down the hallway towards the kitchen. "I think Kitty would'a thought it was pretty funny too, huh?"

"Most definitely," Jo confirmed, allowing herself to be dragged until the hallway opened up into the dining room and she noticed that the rest of her family was sitting at the table, Damian silently watching Daisy and Delilah munch on some grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Mom!" Delilah exclaimed in much the same fashion as Terry had earlier. "Look what Dad made us! Sandwiches!"

"Wow," Jo feigned amazement. "That must mean he loves you very much if he's slavin' away over a hot stove, putting cheese on bread and whatnot."

"Yeah," the girl giggled, leaning over to give Damian a loud kiss on the cheek. _Mwah!_

"Did you already eat, Terry?" Jo asked.

The boy nodded, skipping over to take a seat at the table next to Daisy. "It's how you grow muscles like Dad's, so I have to."

"Ah, understood," Jo acknowledged, turning her attention to Damian. "Did you sleep?"

"He only has six fingers now," Daisy reported, as if that was relevant to the question. "Did you even know that?"

"I d—,"

"Yeah, I slept," Damian told her, leaning back in his chair. "What did they want up at the tower?"

"Oh, just a filing snafu," Jo smiled, leaning down to kiss him. "For some reason they thought I was coming back today, had to fix my form."

Delilah buried her hands in her face in embarrassment when Damian tucked a strand of hair behind Jo's ear and kissed her again.

"Gross!" Terry and Daisy said in unison.

Jo scoffed, "prudes, the lot of you."


	75. Chapter 75

"How does it look?"

"Uh…a little to the left?"

"Is that a question or an instruction?"

"Umm…both?"

"It can't be both. It has to be one or the other. I can move it to the left or I can keep it here. We only have two options. There is no in between."

"Alright, yeesh!" Harley conceded from her chair where is sat on the icy sidewalk. "Left."

"Left what?"

"Left…Mistress?" Harley guessed.

…though from the look on Pam's face, Harley could tell it was not a good guess.

Pam put her hand on her hip where she stood on the ladder, the other keeping the string of lights tacked to the house. "Harleen, I'm asking how far left. Left…3 inches? Left…a foot? Can you give me a measurement?"

Harley petulantly crossed her arms. "Alright there, Miss Crabby Pants. Let's not pretend you don't love this too."

"I _don't '_ love this too'!" Pam replied, exasperated. "Eight nights of Chanukah is enough celebrating! I really don't know why you still insist on doing both!"

"For the kids! And I love Christmas!" Harley shot back. "Why do you gotta be such a party pooper?"

"Because our kids are grown!"

"But their kids aren't!" Harley shouted. "And we're hosting this year because Selina and Bruce bit the dust, remember that lil' tid-bit, ya crazy? Just hang the fuckin' lights up!"

"Well look who's crabby now!"

"You made me this way!"

Pamela rolled her eyes, calming herself down and changing her tone to something cloyingly sweet. "Daffodil, can you please guestimate a measurement?"

Harley squinted. "Can you turn around first? I don't want to be mad at you anymore."

Pam was confused. "Why would me turning around…Oh, Gaia—Harley! You can't keep settling arguments by objectifying me!"

"Why not?" Harley demanded. "Worked for the last 47 years! Why do we have to change now?"

Groaning, Pam turned around, looking quickly over her shoulder. "Happy?"

Harley was grinning. "Those jeans are super cute. Two inches."

"I know," Pam mumbled, moving the tac two inches to her left. "That's why I bought them."

She climbed down afterwards, her boots landing in the snow at the base of the ladder as she stepped backwards, joining Harley on the sidewalk. "Happy?"

Harley was still grinning as she gazed at the light display, reaching for Pam's hand and then clasping it in her own, hoping to warm up Pam's cold hands with her mittens. "It's really pretty."

Pam glanced down at her, a smile creeping into her features at Harley's expression. "Good."

"…prettier when your butt was in the picture, though."

Pam snorted. "Any picture is better when you add my butt, I reckon."

"You reckon?"

"I reckon."

/

The doorbell rang just after 11am…even though Pam had set the arrival time for 11:30, that way everyone could visit for a bit before lunch, and then Pam would have time to start preparing dinner as the day unfolded.

She wasn't ready for company at 11. She should have been, but she wasn't.

For one, Harley was asleep on the couch. She'd woken up excitedly at 8am and demanded that Pam give her at least one of the two presents she'd purchased her. Harley was rather disappointed to find it was a sapphire encrusted silver bracelet that matched the engagement and wedding rings she wore, rather than something more "fun", like say…a sex toy.

…but after the initial disappointment wore off—and Pam's disappointment at her disappointment—she had Pam put it on for her and lovingly traced the stones that protruded from the silver's smooth surface with her fingertip. "It's beautiful, Pammy…" she'd said.

And between that and pushing herself around the living room in her wheelchair, flinging unnecessary tinsel onto the furniture, Harley had tired herself out.

Pam, meanwhile, was putting the vegetables for the frittata in the oven to roast them when the doorbell stopped her.

"And so it begins," she sighed, shutting the oven door and taking off her apron.

"I'm up, I'm up, I'm up," Harley reported sleepily as Pam crossed through the living room to the front door. "Is it dinnertime yet?"

Pam paused with her hand on the doorknob, turning to raise an eyebrow at her wife. "You assumed I let you sleep through the entire day?"

"The things you do don't always make sense, Pam-a-lamb," Harley mumbled in return, stretching her arms.

Pam shook her head affectionately, twisting the handle to find…. "Kara?"

The blonde was smiling broadly at her on the porch, an elderly Lena Luthor at her side. "Merry Christmas!" she exclaimed, spreading her arms wide to pull Pamela into her vice grip…and showing off her sweater in the process. The one that said "Gangsta Wrapper" in broad letters above an embroidered gift box.

"This feels familiar…" Pam said when she let her go. "You're not…secretly dating one of my children, are you?"

"Uh—nope!" Kara beamed, wrapping a strong arm around Lena's shoulders. "Got all I need right here. But thank you so much for inviting us!"

"Is that what I did?"

"Sorry we can't stay for dinner too," Kara sounded genuinely remorseful. "But Clark invited us over and family is family—all I got left, really. You know how it goes."

"I…yes, I'm sure I do," Pam said, opening the door wider, though still very confused. "It's good to see you again, Ms. Luthor."

Lena smiled slyly. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Dr. Isley, I've never met you before in my life. Though, you know…I did once meet a botanist by the name of Lillian Rose who bore a striking resemblance to you. Although she was wearing glasses, so of course that couldn't have been you."

Pam sighed. "I appreciate your discretion."

Lena chuckled, stepping past her through the door. "If it's any consolation, your disguise was far better than Kara's."

Kara's statement of betrayal was cut off when Harley yelled "Is it Anthony?" from the living room.

"No," Pam called back, leading them out of the foyer to where Harley was laying on the largest couch. "It's…Supergirl…and her wife," she attempted to infuse enough 'WTF' into her tone so that Harley would take notice but Kara and Lena wouldn't detect it. Whether or not she succeeded, Pam wasn't sure because Harley was saying:

"Oh, you made it! And perfect, you're strong. Do me a favor and put me in my chair, huh?" she nodded over at the chrome chair that sat just in front of the couch.

"Sure, totally," Kara's features hardened with determination as she slid her arms beneath her and lifted Harley like she weighed nothing at all, setting her gently down—upright—in the chair. "Your house is so beautiful, it's like Ellen DeGeneres lives here."

"Nah, we're the other rich lesbians," Harley chuckled. "But I guess not as rich as you. Really nice to meet you, Lena."

The woman smiled, reaching a hand out to be shaken. "And you, Harleen."

"Oh, you can call me Harley, everyone does," the blonde smiled, shaking back. "I don't—um—I don't know when everybody else is showing up—,"

"A half hour, hopefully," Pam helped her out. "I was just putting lunch in the oven, if you two would like to—,"

"I can help," Kara said immediately—resolute. "I'm not super good at cooking, but I can follow instructions."

"…sometimes," Lena added.

Pam smiled. "As long as you're willing to learn, Kara. Harleen here doesn't understand the concept."

"Hey, I tried! Remember? I went to all those cooking classes before Duke showed up."

"You went to 'a' cooking class. One. Singular." Pam corrected. "And then you gave up because you couldn't crack an egg with one hand and that upset you."

"It was upsetting!"

Lena laughed, the sound light and charming. "If there's any way I can help, Dr. Isley…"

"You can keep Harley company," Pam suggested. "Would you like a mimosa? The orange juice is freshly squeezed."

"Well, who in their right mind would say no to that?" Lena chuckled, sitting down gracefully on the couch behind her.

Kara followed Pam to the kitchen, though her pace dragged as she let her eyes slowly wander over the family pictures that lined the walls of the hallway they were passing through. "I love your kids," Kara murmured. "It always looks like they're having so much fun."

Pam let her gaze dally as well. "They're both exorbitantly wealthy and attractive. Life tends to be more fun for people like that." She was joking—mostly—and luckily Kara seemed to understand because she smiled softly.

She came to a stop in front of a family picture taken when the kids were 15 and 10. Harley was standing with Jo in front of her, her arms wrapped loosely around the girl's shoulders, clasped over her chest, while Anthony stood beside them, watching them instead of the camera, his arm pulling Pam to his side by her waist. "Me and Lena wanted kids…" Kara admitted. "Back when we first got married."

 _That was a rather long time ago…_ "What happened?"

"We got scared…" Kara examined the picture of Pam holding Duke as an infant. "Between her brother and her mom, there as just…a lot of danger. A Luthor and a Super, that makes for a lot of enemies. Now it's too late."

Pam studied the girl's body language, the longing in her eyes…although, Pam supposed she really wasn't a girl at all anymore. She wasn't much younger than Harley, actually. 10 years at the most, but like Clark, her aging was slowed to such a degree that you would never guess it. She was nearly as trapped as Pamela. "I'm…sorry, Kara. I'm so very sorry."

But Kara's eyes brightened quickly, her posture instantly perking up with them. "But maybe Lena and Harley can be friends! Do you think? She spends a lot of time with Lois—maybe Harley would like Lois. They're—I mean, Lena…I know she can sometimes feel so alone because nobody can really understand what it feels like to be…moving faster. Well, except for Lois, and Harley," she smiled. "And Jon and Damian are friends, right?"

"I wasn't aware Damian had any friends," Pam told her. "But…I suppose it's possible?" The doorbell rang again and Pam sighed. _Why is it that people are always either late or early? Can't they just be on time? Is that really so much to ask?_ "Do me a favor and crack those two dozen eggs into the bowl on the counter."

"One hand or two?" Kara asked with a cheeky grin.

Pam smirked. "I'm not picky."

"Hi there," the man on her porch smiled at her, the teenaged girl next to him mimicking his expression. "You're Jo's Mom, right?"

"Do I look like Jo's Mom?"

The man seemed confused. "Well…no…you look like her sister…"

Seeing that her… _father? Her brother?_ Was floundering, the girl leaned into Pam's ear and whispered. "I'm Batgirl, it's OK, we know."

"Oh!" realization suddenly dawned. "You're Tiffany. Which means you're…"

"Luke," the man answered, smiling…handsomely.

"Got it…" Pamela nodded slowly. "Yes, that makes—this makes sense."

Luke seemed a bit unsure, as Pam had yet to open the door wide enough for them to pass through. "Um…Jo said the Batgirl thing came with family perks…"

 _So no one wanted to keep me in the loop about the invite list. Charming._ "Of course, yes," Pam stepped back, beckoning them inside. "I suppose you already know my wife, Tiffany. That's Harleen," she gestured to where Harley was sitting in her chair, she and Lena both sipping mimosas that had been prepared by Ivy's plants via mental instruction. "And this is…" she really wasn't sure how to go about this, how much everyone knew.

"Ms. Luthor," Luke greeted Lena with unexpected familiarity. "What a fantastic surprise."

Lena stood up to shake his hand. "It's been far too long. The last time we saw each other had to be…" she squinted in thought. "The Forbes AgTech Summit—can that be right?"

"I told you to give me a call the next time you were in Gotham!" Luke laughed. "What happened to that? Doesn't seem like the fault is with me here."

"You're right, you're right, I'm terrible," Lena conceded. "But I'm here now. I hope you'll accept my apology."

"Of course," Luke granted. "So how are you connected to all of this?" he wondered.

And now Lena seemed to be contemplating the same question Pam had earlier. _How much does he know?_

"Lena," Harley stepped in to help. "Tiffany works for my daughter and her husband."

"Ah," Lena nodded in understanding. "Are you the pink one?"

Tiffany giggled. "Yeah."

"And did Anthony and Karen make your suit?" Lena wondered. "Because they updated my wife's as well. Incredible work."

Luke raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Supergirl," Lena clarified. "She's in the kitchen if you'd like to meet her."

Before anyone could respond, Harley was being jumped on in her chair by an overzealous 9-year-old. "Merry Christmas, Nana!"

"Hey there, Delilah!" Harley laughed, wrapping her up into a tight hug.

"Every time, Harleen?" Damian sighed as he entered the room, Terry just in front of him. "Seriously?"

"I'll stop when it stops being funny," Harley assured him. "Which will of course be never, so yeah, every time, Harleen." She gave the girl on her lap a loud kiss on the cheek. "Have you had a good Christmas so far? Lots of presents?"

"Yeah," Lilah grinned. "Mommy gave me this dress, see?"

Pam and Harley studied the garment with some bewilderment. It was a light blue, with frills around the collar and the cap sleeves, and a soft pink bow tied around her waist…

And that's when Daisy entered wearing the exact same dress, and the fact that Jo was already biting her thumb to hold back laughter in the corner of the room told them all they needed to know.

"Jolene, you're going to get these kids taken away from you," Pam warned.

"Oh, come on!" Jo pushed off of the wall. "One _The Shining_ reference never hurt anybody, and they asked for it anyway, I'm just in the business of granting Christmas wishes."

That didn't exactly make Pam feel any better. "Why have they been exposed to _The Shining_ thoroughly enough to understand such a specific reference?"

"Well I didn't _show_ it to them, if _that's_ what you're implying," Jo told her—halfway between a sneer and an assurance. "They asked, I called up the studio and delivered…end of story."

"The studio?" Harley ran her hand along the fabric of the dress on Lilah's shoulder. "You mean these are the actual dresses?"

"What the heck else am I gonna spend my money on?" Jo demanded like it was a stupid question. "Glad you could make it, Luke. What up Tiff?" she gave the girl a fist-pound. "And Ms. Luthor, making the rest of us feel desperately inadequate yet again, how do you do it?"

Harley raised an eyebrow. "You two know each other?"

"Lena co-sponsored the Wayne Foundation's AIDS Benefit this year," Damian explained. "I put Jo in charge of the planning committee."

"How gracious of you," Pam intoned. "I wasn't aware they bestowed tasks of such importance upon trophy wives."

Jo smiled wickedly. "And a merry Christmas to you too, Mom. Can I help you in the kitchen? Or would it make you feel better if I sat out here and drank scotch with the men—or whatever."

"Why don't you ask Damian?" Pam suggested. "I'm sure he'll steer you in the right direction."

Harley intervened: "Hey, Pam? Chill, Baby, alright? It's Christmas."

Terry was frowning. "Mom, what's a trophy wife?"

"I don't know, Bud," Jo told him. "Something completely irrelevant. Hey," she squeezed his shoulder to get his full attention. "How about you and the girls go check out Uncle Tony's room. He kept this weird catalogue of everything he ever got for Christmas, I think it's still in his desk."

"He did?" Terry laughed.

"Totally," Jo confirmed. "It's like a spreadsheet or something. Go study it so you can make fun of him for it when he gets here."

Daisy smirked. "Yeah, OK."

"Cool," Jo grinned. "You too, Lilah. And anything you find up there you can keep."

Delilah was a little more reluctant, but climbed off of Harley anyway, following her brother and sister up the stairs.

Jo waited until all three heads had disappeared from sight before turning back to Pam. "You better knock that shit off in front of my kids, Mom. Right the fuck now."

Lena, Luke and Tiffany all blinked in surprise—even Harley wasn't quite expecting it. Damian just looked down at his shoes, clearing his throat uncomfortably in the silence.

"Apologies," Pam said, her tone even, holding her daughter's gaze. Then she turned to the rest of their audience with a smile. "Lunch should be ready in a half hour. If one of you will answer the door when Anthony gets here…"

/

"So what's the official time table on this?" Lena asked. "A year? Two?"

Anthony grinned. "March. That's the official rollout."

Lena set her fork down. "You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious," Anthony assured her. "In three months, Wayne Enterprises is getting automobiles off of the ground and into the air. We've had the technology for roughly 6 years now. Most of our work since then has been convincing city officials that this is actually a safer alternative to road driving, as all of our flyers are self-driving—programed according to live-tracking traffic satellites. No more human error."

"Gotham has been established as a test city," Barbara chimed in. "A trial run, basically, for the entire country."

"As the Police Commissioner that has to introduce some new obstacles for you, huh?" Kara prompted.

Barbara smiled confidently across the table at her. "Nothing we can't handle."

Harley let her focus drift away from the conversation, glancing at Pam beside her who was distractedly picking at the food on her plate while watching Jo attempt to convince Daisy to eat a yam at the other end of the table.

"This is really good, Pammy," Harley whispered with a soft smile.

"Thank you," Pam muttered in return, breaking her focus as well to look at Harley. "I'm glad you like it." Her eyes searched Harley's face, though for what, the blonde wasn't sure. And nothing was ever said, Pam just leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss, keeping her eyes open as she did and holding her lips there for a moment—just to look, it seemed.

Kara and Lena left after lunch, Kara making absolutely sure Harley had both Lena and Lois' number. Harley hadn't known what to expect inviting them over, she just knew that Pam and Kara seemed to have a functional—if not thriving—work relationship, and that was rare for Pam. Incredibly rare, actually. She didn't make friends easily, especially not with heroes.

And Lena Luthor? There were just so many insane rumors about she and her family, it had been difficult not to judge her beforehand. But Lena was…Lena was wonderful. Kind and funny and smart as a whip…and never in a million years did little Harleen Quinzel, growing up in that shithole neighborhood in Central Gotham, think she'd one day be spending Christmas with a Luthor. Or even get to _speak_ to a Luthor, really. Then again, she didn't think she'd be married to a superhero either, or even a woman, for that matter! And heck yes she wanted to see Lois Lane again! _The_ Lois Lane! And—

 _OK, OK, the point is, yay for new friends!_

Afterwards they sat down to open presents…which probably shouldn't have still excited Harley so thoroughly, but screw it.

"The design is patented, something I came up with when it was clear the Batsuits needed a protection upgrade," Anthony was explaining his gift—a pair of gardening gloves—to Pam. "So Karen made these for you while the material was available. They're essentially impenetrable, and also absorb the force of any direct hit."

Pam was smiling. "What is it you think I do in my garden, Anthony?"

"Oh, don't pretend like those Pitchers don't snap every once in a while," Anthony grinned. "But they'll also protect you from more routine injuries, like cuts or an errant trowel."

Pam pulled them on, flexing her hands. "I love them," she finally concluded, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Alright, Ant," Harley clapped. "You have given, and now you shall receive. You're up, Jo."

"OK, OK," Jo tapped Terry on the shoulder. "Can you hand Uncle Tony our gift, T? It's right there."

Terry nodded ardently, jumping to his feet and grabbing the square box from under the tree that grew out of Pam's greenhouse floor.

"Did you help pick this out for me?" Anthony asked, taking the box from him.

"Yeah, but it was Mom's idea," Terry told him.

"Well now I'm concerned."

"Oh, don't be a prick," Jo teased. "Come on. Open it."

Anthony glanced nervously over at Harley as he cautiously tore open the paper. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't responsible for whatever his sister had put in that box, but it was cute that her 39-year-old son was genuinely nervous, so she gave him a semi-reassuring shrug and a smile.

He frowned when he pulled back the lid of the box. "I don't…who is it?"

"How bout'cha take him out and see?" Jo suggested, her smile knowing and excited.

Anthony reached into the box and pulled out a figure—an action figure—wearing a gray three-piece suit and a blue tie. It had auburn hair, and…Anthony looked up at his sister, clutching the plastic in his hand. "Is it me?"

"It's you!" Jo confirmed, sitting forward onto her knees, looking like the animated child who'd squirmed with anticipation every Christmas while awaiting her turn. "And look, it comes with little accessories, like a drawing pad and a little engineer's toolbox, and you can put a lab coat and glasses on him if you want, those are in there too."

Anthony ran his finger reverently over the figure's plastic face, which had clearly been crafted with significant precision as the likeness was pretty damn impressive. "You made me an action figure…"

"Yeah," Jo grinned proudly. "I thought you could put him next to your Karens on the shelf."

"You can keep me company now," Karen chuckled, resting her chin on his shoulder from behind to peer at the figure in his hands. "Cute idea, Jo."

"Yep, and I'm on a roll so can I take another giving turn, Mom? Please?" Jo wondered, looking at Pam, out of habit, it seemed. Pam had dictated Christmas order for Jo's entire life, that clearly wasn't about to change.

"Go ahead," Pam acquiesced with a wave of her hand.

"Sweet," Jo pulled her phone out of her pocket, scrolling through what was probably her camera roll, Harley couldn't see from where she was sitting on Pam's lap in the grass, Duke occupying her empty wheelchair.

Damian leaned back to try and see what she was doing, but Jo pushed his face away, mumbling: "Be patient…" and then finally, "OK." She handed him the phone.

He took it, but his expression was puzzled. "Cute puppy," he granted. "Looks like my dog Titus."

"Mhm," Jo acknowledged. "Except for his name is Tyson. He's a 7-week-old Great Dane, which means he'll be ready to come home next w—,"

Damian was tackling her back into the grass before she could finish, and Harley felt Pam sit suddenly forward behind her, her body rigid…before Damian began peppering Jo's face with kisses.

Now Harley and Pam were alarmed for an entirely different reason, and looked at each other strangely in reaction to Jo's giggles. They'd never really witnessed Damian's…affection. And even so this outburst seemed wildly out of character.

"Is he really that much of an animal lover?" Pam whispered.

"Umm…well he had that pet cow, remember? When he was a kid?" Harley reminded her.

"How come you wouldn't get me a kitten?" Daisy asked, pouting.

"Um," Jo pushed Damian off of her with a final laugh to sit up. "Probably because we inherited about 100 cats from Grandma Kitty and I'd say 101 is officially overboard."

"Right," Anthony nodded sagely. "100, that's reasonable. But 101?"

"Insanity. And don't encourage her," Jo punched her brother in the arm.

"OK," Pam whispered into Harley's ear before raising her voice and beginning to stand, vines reaching out of the ground to hold Harley upright. "The last present is for your Mother, so perhaps a drumroll?"

Luke kindly provided it for them on Pam's work bench as she, herself, crossed to the back of the greenhouse, grabbing the key to the large tool cupboard from underneath the nearby shelf and sliding it into the lock.

Harley waited somewhat patiently, a bit annoyed that she couldn't turn around and see. Whatever it was sounded big, though, and Anthony seemed happy to see it, so yay? She shut her eyes tight in anticipation, waiting until she could feel Pam's presence in front of her.

"Open them," Pam gently instructed.

And Harley did, slowly, her lashes fluttering open. Her breath hitched in her throat when she saw it, but nothing was better than the look of cautious excitement on Pam's face.

The thing she was standing next to was as tall as she was, made from the same metal Harley's chair was, with a pad that ran down its upper length before the metal split into two parts, like legs separating from the pelvis. "What…what is it?"

"It's a standing chair," Pam announced. "With all terrain wheels and suspension so you can visit me in the garden, if you'd like, rather than having to stay on the porch or the path. You'll also be able to reach the counter, as it will raise you up to your original height, and…" she trailed off as Harley's eyes began to fill with tears. "What is it?"

"I missed the world from up there."

/

Duke watched Tiffany study each individual item still housed on Anthony's shelves. Every plant, every picture and poster on his walls…

"It's cool that your Grandparents kept it like this," she said, bending down to smile at an old Nightwing figurine. "Preserved it…it's like a time capsule."

"Yeah," Duke's mouth turned upwards at the corners. "I guess so."

"Do you think you would have been friends with your Dad if you were the same age?" Tiffany wondered, in what Duke thought was sort of a weird question. "I always wonder cuz my parents are so old, you know. I wonder if there was ever a time and place where they could have understood me."

"Well, um, my Dad was only like 24 when he had me," Duke explained. "So I guess I don't have to try too hard to imagine it. Sorta weird thinking about my parent's age difference, though. Like…I try to imagine myself falling in love with someone who was already 12 years old when I was born."

"Yeah, that's kinda trippy," Tiffany chuckled, taking a seat on the bed. "Your parents seem really cool, though. And they're a cute couple, so I guess…maybe we don't have to imagine it."

"Maybe," Duke smiled, scuffing his sneaker on the carpet, the metal chain warm in his pocket. "I, um, I got you something—for Christmas, I got you something. It's totally OK if you didn't get me anything, I just…umm…"

Tiffany was smirking shyly. "You got me a present?"

"I—yeah," Duke relaxed slightly upon seeing her expression. "It's stupid, but…" he pulled the necklace out of his pocket, hidden in his fist, and took a step towards her.

Tentatively, Tiffany raised her hand, holding it out for him, and Duke placed the gold chain in her palm. With a twitch of her lips, she pulled her hand back, lifting the necklace to see the pedant. It was a bird—a lark, to be exact, made of shining gold-painted medal.

"It's my favorite bird," Duke told her sheepishly. "I know it should probably be the Robin, but the Meadow Lark has this bright yellow on its belly that reminds me of my Mom."

Tiffany dragged her gaze slowly away from the necklace in her hand until she was looking him in the eye. "Then that's what you should be."

Duke furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you should be Lark, not Robin," Tiffany clarified, unclasping the necklace and holding it up to him. "Will you put it on me?"

"Oh, sure, yeah," Duke answered immediately, taking the metal back from her and climbing onto the bed, kneeling to clasp it around her neck. Once it was on he allowed his hands to lightly drift down her shoulders as she turned around to face him. "It looks really pretty on you."

"Thanks," Tiffany grinned. "I guess I should give you your present now."

Duke cocked his head, powerless against the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest. "You got me a present too?"

"Mmm…something like that," Tiffany whispered, leaning forward and gently pressing their lips together.

/

Harley slammed into the counter for the 15th time, though her expression remained gleeful.

"Harleen, the children are asleep," Pam scolded, dropping the plate she was cleaning into the soapy water. "Please, I'll take you to the park tomorrow and you can practice all day."

Harley mumbled something unintelligible, turning the chair and heading the other way…only to slam into the doorframe as she tried to exit. "Dang flabbit!"

Pam sighed, turning back to the task at hand until Luke showed up in the doorway beside Harley. "Have either of you seen Tiffany?" he asked. "I lost track of her after dinner."

"Last I saw, she and Duke were headed up to Anthony's room." Pam off-handedly reported.

"Shit, how long ago?"

Pam really didn't understand the problem, but told him "two hours, maybe?" anyway, and watched as he scurried off in the direction of the stairs.

Harley turned with a laugh. "Do you just assume every kid is gay?"

Pam scoffed, stripping off her dish gloves. "Only most."


	76. Chapter 76

Pamela came with a high-pitched cry, collapsing forward onto Harley, panting as she pressed wet, sated kisses into the crook of her wife's neck.

Harley ran her finger soothingly up and down Pam's spine, leaving the path to trace the vine patterns that ran like tree roots across her back. "Was that good?"

"Yes," Pam sighed contentedly, lifting her head to kiss Harley's lips, smiling as she did.

Harley brushed Pam's sweat-dampened hair out of her face, combing her fingers through it. "I don't want you to be late…"

Pam blinked to clear the lethargy away, and turned to look at the clock on their bedside table, shrugging as she read the display. "I'm already late. What's the harm in waiting a bit longer? The world's not going to end, is it?"

"It—," Harley coughed as Pam lowered her head once more, trailing kisses down her throat and chest, her warm tongue drawing circles around her n—"could! It literally could. And you're taking me to meet my friends, remember?"

"Oh, yes," Pam acknowledged, reluctantly climbing off of her. "Your playdate."

"Don't—ugh—don't call it that!" Harley pleaded with exasperation. "It makes it sound dumb. Just get in the shower, please."

Leaning against the bathroom doorway, naked as the day she was born, Pam said: "would you like to join me?"

"Pamela, no! we're late!" Harley rather forcefully reminded her. "And you'd have to get the shower chair out and stuff, that's not sexy. I'm not sexy. Seriously, why in the world are you still attracted to me?"

"Well, you're my wife," Pam answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And I would look far worse than you right now if I'd been allowed to age normally. You're still attracted to me, aren't you?"

"Duh."

Pam grinned. "Well then why can't I still be attracted to you?"

Harley sighed. "I don't know, Babe. But can you take this thing off of me, please?" she gestured to harness fastened around her hips and the plastic that still stood upright between her legs. "Before you shower?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Pam apologized, flushing with embarrassment at her neglect.

/

Lois looked up from her coffee at the sound of the door opening, and her gaze traveled across the crowded café to find exactly what she was expecting.

Ivy—or Pamela, sorry—was holding the door open so that Harley could maneuver her wheelchair inside, wiggling the joystick on the arm rest to get herself up and over the small change in elevation between the sidewalk and the wood floor of the café. Pamela had to assist her just a bit, guiding her wheels gently away from the door stop and helping her glide safely inside.

The blonde then looked up with a smile, her eyes searching the nearby tables until Lena gave a friendly wave and she tugged on Pamela's blazer, pointing over at them.

Pamela nodded and took her sunglasses off, slipping them into her plunging neckline, and Lois sighed. "You think I would have had a chance with her? If I were a lesbian?"

"That's an awfully big 'if'," Lena chuckled. "But why in the world would you want a plant hybrid when you already have a Kryptonian?"

"Because plant hybrids evidently come with free nips and tucks," she nodded over in Harley's direction as she approached. "With Clark I've been forced to age… _gracefully_ ," she spat out the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth, and Lena laughed, turning her attention to Harley as she arrived at the table.

"Good morning, Ladies," Pamela greeted, her tone chipper. "You're looking well."

"We're looking old, Pamela," Lena corrected. "If we wanted a yes man, we would have invited your daughter."

Lois nodded in agreement and Pam sighed, placing her hand on Harley's shoulder, and leaning down to speak to her…only to notice the gentleman at the next table staring. So she corrected her body language just slightly, augmented it for a different relationship, and said: "Anthony will pick you up in an hour, Mother." Then she kissed her chastely on the cheek and straightened up. "Have fun, you three. Call if you need anything."

Harley held up her cellphone to show she had it. "Will do."

She was the only one that didn't watch Pamela leave, the redhead offering one more little wave back at the table before disappearing into the sunlight beyond the door.

Lois turned and furrowed her brow at Harley once they were alone. "Why do you smell like…?"

"Sex?" Harley guessed, reaching for the half-finished croissant on Lois' plate and taking a bite.

Lois watched her with eyes squinted as she returned the croissant. "I was going to say Gardenias…"

"Oh, well that's what it smells like with Pam," Harley revealed, motioning to the barista, who looked at her strangely before she pointed down at her chair. That seemed to jolt him into action. "And of course she waits until I can't actually fuck her put her ass in gear."

The barista was at their table now. "Can I help you, Ma'am?"

"Can I have a hot chocolate?" Harley asked, widening her eyes to make herself look feebler, and reaching into her purse to hand him her debit card. "Just a small one?"

"Oh, Ma'am, I…I'm sorry," he said, seemingly genuinely apologetic. "We don't do table service."

"Well, I'll tell you what," Harley said, grabbing a napkin from the center of the table and taking the pen out of his front pocket to quickly jot down a phone number. "You saw the redhead that came in here with me?"

The man nodded, blushing slightly. "You have a…. beautiful daughter, Miss."

Lois could tell Harley was fighting the urge to roll her eyes as she handed him the napkin.

"That's her phone number. Now can I please get my hot chocolate?"

The barista glanced down at the napkin in his hand, before smiling shyly and taking a cautious look over his shoulder. "OK," he acquiesced. "Just this once."

Lena raised an eyebrow as he left them. "That isn't really your wife's number, is it?"

"God, no," Harley laughed, waving her off. "…it's my _actual_ daughter's number."

Lois' coffee threatened to rather ungracefully spill out of her nose as she snorted. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Harley grinned, sitting back contentedly in her chair. "She hates it and it's hilarious. But seriously, I don't know how the Hugh Heffner's of the world do it. How can anyone in their right mind look at those gorgeous, 20-something women and be like 'yeah, this make sense, I deserve this'."

"If it's any consolation, your wife looks more like she's in her early 30's," Lena assured her. "20 would, indeed, be stretching it."

"Remind me how old your daughter is, again?" Lois asked, a slight smile playing on her lips over the brim of her coffee mug

"37," Harley muttered, massaging her temples.

Lena wrinkled her nose. "And Pamela is…?"

"Permanently 33."

"Mm," Lena cleared her throat. "That's…unfortunate."

"Yeah," Harley smiled at the barista as he set her hot chocolate down in front of her. "It super-duper is."

"I suppose I won't run into that problem," Lois realized. "I'll be long gone by the time Jon surpasses Clark."

Lena stared down at her saucer, gently tapping the edge with her index finger, and Harley evidently realized she may have made a mistake, because she apologized, saying: "Sorry, I didn't mean to start us off on mortality. That's—uh—read the room, Harl."

"No…" Lena subtly shook her head. "That's…what we're here for. The only three women on the planet who will ever understand what this feels like."

"Until they remarry," Lois pointed out. "Which is…almost a more depressing thought, so shame on me. In any case, Lena's right, Harleen. We're just a…unique support group. Three powerful women who chose people that will always be infinitely more powerful than us."

"And who frequently forget it," Lena added.

Lois chuckled, raising her coffee mug. "To our sweet, beautiful, all-powerful head-cases."

"Cheers," Harley grinned, waiting for Lena to join in before clinking their cups together.

/

Ivy watched as Supergirl unloaded the last of the aid packages from the plane, placing them gently onto the craft that hovered a few inches above the sandy desert terrain.

Rope-like vines slithered out of Ivy's wrist and Supergirl used her heat vision to singe them off at the appropriate length, so that Ivy could use them to fasten the materials down on the craft's bed.

Ivy was wearing a suit Anthony had made for her—one that utilized the same Aqua-layer technology that Mareena's did, meaning she was able to not only survive in these harsh conditions, but thrive. Dehydration wouldn't be a factor.

"We ready?" Kara prompted, motioning with her head towards a dark smudge on the horizon that Ivy knew was their desired destination.

"Ready," Ivy nodded, waiting as Kara circled around her back, wrapping her hands around her waist.

They weren't allowed to park their plane any closer to the village, as J'onn had determined that invasion of privacy would be too severe. These people needed help, the drought having crippled their village, but too much intrusion from the outside world was deemed frightening and counter-productive by The League.

Ivy felt her feet lift of the ground as Kara carried her into the air—not too high, they needed to stay close to the craft, but high enough for Supergirl to cover the open space rather quickly—the craft following behind them. They had to stop roughly a mile short of the village, as obviously flying wasn't much subtler than arriving in a plane.

Ivy's feet sunk into the hot sand, and she closed her eyes to focus on finding a heartbeat for the green. It was faint, but there was life. There was always life, somewhere below the Earth it was struggling, wishing to be freed and nourished. That's why they'd sent Ivy.

Slowing their walking pace to a stop just on the outskirts of the village, Ivy pulled a climate-controlled metal case off of the craft, opening it to reveal the Nopales pads from the units she'd grown in The Watchtower's specimen garden. Prickly Pears were already impressively resilient plants, but these Ivy had specially engineered to survive the harshest of conditions, meaning the villagers would be able to utilize them without having to take extra care.

Kara peered over Ivy's shoulder as she went about her task, digging into the sand with gloved hands. "Do you, um, need any help there?"

"No, thank you," Ivy answered distractedly. "You can deliver the other packages."

But Kara didn't move right away, and from the shadow she was casting, Ivy could tell she was still watching her. "Your powers…are _so_ cool," Kara murmured as Ivy expelled some water from her suit, dampening where she planned to encourage the pads to take root. "But you know what's even cooler?"

"What's that?" Ivy asked.

"You're really smart," there was a smile on Kara's lips, Ivy could hear it. "Seems like people either have really awesome powers, or are smart enough to pretend they do. But you have both. That makes you special."

Ivy smiled to herself. There were few people as…relentlessly earnest as Kara Danvers. It was almost too much, her goodness. Almost overwhelming in its intensity…but when her sunshine shone on you? It was impossible not to appreciate. "Thank you."

"I'm so happy Lena and Harley get along," Kara said as she climbed back into the self-piloted plane sometime later. "I know she doesn't want me to see because she knows it'll make me sad, but she just cries sometimes. It started back up a few years ago, and she would never tell me why…but ever since she and Lois and Harley started getting together more, it's like she has an outlet or something, I don't know. Was retirement hard on Harley?"

Pam buckled herself in, as the seatbelts had to be fastened before the plane would take off. "Harley was 38 when Anthony was born," Pam told her. "She didn't realize she had retired until after Jolene was born 4 years later. So she had sort of an awkward, angry, delayed reaction, aimed at me, specifically. In short, yes, it was hard on her. I imagine it should be hard on anyone that loves their work, us included. How has it been taking a break from reporting?"

"Umm…" Kara frowned, deciding what her answer should be. "Well, I know I'll go back to it someday. I know I have time. I guess that makes it a little easier to deal with."

Pam agreed with a silent nod, her gaze moving out the window, eyes tracing the swells and dips of the rolling dunes below them. "I've been subjected to a lot of pain in my life," she quietly admitted. "But nothing hurts worse than knowing I've hurt her. Unintentionally or no, I regret every tear of sadness she's ever shed, on my behalf or otherwise."

"Yeah, I know how you feel," Kara said, her hands twisting in her lap. "I don't like making _anyone_ sad, but Lena, I just…I love her so much…when my sister died I thought I would never be able to feel happy again, it was like the world was crashing down on top of me, but Lena…she saved me. She always saves me. It's like we—you and me and Clark and the rest of us…we've gotta be heroes for everybody. But that can be _hard_ because stuff doesn't always go our way or the people misinterpret what we're trying to do…so we need our own heroes. People to pick us up when we fall down and remind us why we're here, and all the good we have inside us." A smile brightened her face, and she pressed herself happily back into her chair. "It's good to be in love. It feels good."

Ivy smiled softly, watching Kara out of the corner of her eye. "It does."

/

Harley waved Anthony over when he entered the café, almost exactly an hour after Pam had left her there. Her son was nothing if not punctual.

…and handsome. Punctual and handsome, what more do you need in a person?

"Hey, Ma," he smiled, approaching the table. "Lois, Lena…I hope you didn't tire her out too much."

"Yes, well, we have been playing some pretty vigorous bridge," Lois told him, her tone facetious. "Knitting, too. She'll probably need to take a nap and drink some prune juice to recuperate."

Anthony leaned against his Mother's wheelchair. "What did you win that Pulitzer Prize for, again? Being a smartass?"

"According to Perry White? Yes," Lois chuckled. "But he's dead now and villains don't even bother kidnapping me anymore, so what does it matter anyway?"

"You're a legend, Lois," Anthony gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "Don't let anyone tell you different. As far as I'm concerned? You saved journalism. Almost single-handedly."

"Anthony Quinzel, I'd like to kiss you on the mouth," Lois laughed, fanning herself.

"And I'd love for my excuse to be that I'm a married man," Anthony replied good-naturedly. "But I'm 20 years and a kid into a relationship, and it doesn't look like that's ever going to happen."

"Aww," Lena pat his back sympathetically. "Do you need to vent? Your Mother tells me you've been given an honorary woman card."

Anthony laughed. "Yeah, I'm a card-carrying member of the fairer sex, it's true. And I'd love to take you up on that, but my son has a basketball game, and Gotham State is actually ranked in the top 25 this year, if you can believe it."

"Did you bring my sweatshirt?" Harley wondered.

"Yep," Anthony smiled. "It's waiting for you in the van. You ready to go?"

Once outside, Harley rolled up the ramp, into the van, and waited for Anthony to fasten her chair to the floor.

"We're a little early," he said as he pulled out of the parking lot. "But I thought heading there now couldn't hurt, since they have to escort you and everything."

Harley was about to say that was fine, when Anthony's cellphone rang out of the van's speakers as he'd already connected it to the Bluetooth system.

"Ugh, hold on, it's Jo," he said, clicking the green button on the touchscreen to accept the call. "What?"

 _"_ _Christ—who pissed in your cheerios?"_

"Karen," Anthony told her.

 _"_ _Goodness gracious, trouble in paradise?"_ Jo chuckled. _"I obviously want to hear all about that at a later time, but right now I need a favor."_

Anthony sighed. "What is it? Ma and I are on a time crunch."

Harley squinted in the back, deciding whether or not that was true.

 _"_ _For some reason…all three of my kids are in the Principal's office and someone has to go pick them up because they're being sent home for some fucking reason. That tight-ass was hella cryptic on the phone, so I truly have no idea why."_ Jo explained. _"It shouldn't take long, though."_

"What are you doing right now that you can't do it yourself?" he asked.

 _"_ _Um, right now? At the beach house, in a low-cut dress, trying to convince some creepy-ass Russian dude to give us his money."_

"As one does..." Harley piped up.

 _"_ _As one does,"_ Jo agreed. _"But I seriously overdid it on the pheromones, it's getting real gross, real fast."_

Anthony frowned. "Well, are you OK? Is Damian there?"

 _"_ _Oh, Sweetheart, you make it sound like I've never killed a man in cold blood before. And husbandless to boot! Who'da thunk it?"_

Rolling his eyes, Anthony groaned: "Could do without the condescension, Jolene. We're doing you a favor, remember?"

 _"_ _Right, right. My bad,"_ Jo apologized. _"Let me know how it goes."_ She hung up rather unceremoniously after that.

"Sorry, Ma," Anthony sighed. "Looks like we're taking a detour."

Harley grinned, watching excitedly out the window. She loved it when people took her to do stuff. And what a busy day she'd had already! Time with her son and three of her grandkids? After lunch with her friends and sex with her wife? Everything was comin' up roses for ole' Harleen Quinzel.

It only took them 10 minutes to get to the school, meaning they were still doing pretty good on time. This little favor shouldn't make them late to the game.

"OK, sit tight, I'll be right back," Anthony instructed, leaning back through the driver's side window.

Harley gave him two thumbs up. "Aces."

/

Anthony crossed campus quickly, following the signs for the principal's office, laughing internally the entire way at the fact that his sister—arguably the most blasphemous woman he'd ever met—sent her kids to Catholic school.

He glanced at his watch as he rounded the final corner, _40 minutes, you're fine_ , and stepped into the air conditioned space. Actually, the over-air-conditioned space would have been a better descriptor, as Anthony felt like he'd just entered the arctic tundra. Even so, the thought of the likely horrendous energy output was what sent a shiver down his spine.

"Hi," he greeted the woman at the front desk. "I'm here to pick up my nieces and nephew? Terrence, Daisy, and Delilah Wayne."

She pointed silently down the hallway behind her.

"Umm…great, thank you," he offered her a subtle nod as he started in the direction she'd indicated, knocking on the door that read 'Principal'.

"Come in," a sharp female voice answered.

The kids were sitting in a uniform row in front of the principal's desk, Terry in between the two girls, which wasn't a formation Anthony was used to seeing. They glanced up, all in unison, when he entered.

"Hey, Guys," he smiled before turning to the woman standing behind the desk. "Hi, I'm Anthony Quinzel, their uncle," he held out his hand to be shaken, but she ignored it, sitting back down in her own chair.

"I would have preferred to speak to a parent," she told him.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. My sister wanted to be here, but she and her husband are busy people," he attempted a good natured shrug and a slight smile…that worked on most people.

…but clearly not this one.

"The charge here is physical violence," the woman continued, tersely. "Delilah here sent one of her classmates to the hospital today."

Daisy snorted and Delilah had to hide her smile behind her hand, all of which earned them a sharp look.

"Well that's…terrible," Anthony said, glancing over at them. "I'm sure Delilah didn't intend to hurt the boy so severely."

"I didn't tell you the student's gender," the principal pointed out.

"Just a hunch," he said, putting a hand on Delilah's shoulder. "So how do we proceed? Will his parents be pressing charges? They're 13, so I can't imagine that would stick, especially seeing as the Wayne family is…perhaps your biggest donor?"

"No charges have been filed…"

"Will they be suspended?" Was Anthony's follow-up.

"We're not—,"

"Actually, you know what? I'm late," Anthony interrupted her. "You're right, this is probably a conversation you should be having with their parents. Whatever the punishment is—suspension, expulsion…type it up, send it in an email, that's how my sister is most reliable. Let's go, Guys." He helped Delilah up first, noticing she had a cut on her cheek, and Terry and Daisy followed.

Anthony waited until they'd all climbed back in the van, and he'd once again pulled onto the road to say: "The hospital, Delilah?! That is too far! What in the world were you thinking?!"

"Umm…probably that he had it coming?" Daisy guessed. "Prick deserved a lot worse."

"And he's such a faker!" Delilah chimed in to defend herself. "Seriously, Uncle Tony, I didn't even break a single rib! Didn't even break his nose! He got a nosebleed and started freaking out, that's all."

"A nosebleed you caused?" Harley wondered.

"Pfft, well, yeah!" Lilah exclaimed. "He called Terry the f-word!"

"Guys," Anthony looked at them in the rear-view mirror. "I know who your Mom is. There's no way you should be offended by that word at this point. You're 13 years old, almost in High School. That's a ridiculous reason to send someone to the hospital, even if he was overreacting."

"Not _that_ f-word," Terry mumbled.

"We mean the gay one," Daisy clarified. "Which makes it even more ridiculous because Terry isn't even the gay one, I am! Like, Terry is bi, at the _most_ , so would it kill the dude to do a little research before throwing out homophobic slurs?"

Terry scoffed. "Evidently."

"Plus, the kid's a total closet-case," Lilah piggybacked. "I'd sorta feel bad for him if he didn't have such a punchable face."

Anthony quietly pulled to the side of the road, shifting into park and just sitting there a moment before he slowly turned around in his seat, his movements measured, expression calm as he could manage. "Ma, what is happening right now?"

"I don't know," Harley laughed. "But I love it!"


	77. Chapter 77

Ivy lowered herself into her chair with a sigh, aware that she was early to the meeting, but she could either nurse her green tea here or in the rec room, and here she wouldn't be forced into another conversation with Bart Allen—her all-time least favorite Flash.

She looked up from her mug when Diana cleared her throat across the table. Ivy honestly hadn't noticed her before, perhaps because her face was hidden behind a magazine, the front cover folded behind so she couldn't discern what she was actually reading.

"Good morning, Pamela," she greeted.

"Diana," Ivy nodded cordially. "How are you?"

Wonder Woman peaked out from behind the magazine with a smirk. "Rather well, as a matter of fact," she told her. "I was just reading this incredibly fascinating article…"

"Oh?"

"Yes, a collection of beauty tips, if you can believe it," Diana told her. "Valuable information, indeed. Here, maybe you could learn a thing or two." She slid the magazine across the table.

Ivy scoffed. "I hardly think that's…" she trailed off when the cover flipped back. It was Cosmo, and there was a picture of her daughter on the cover below the title: _Fit and 40!_ And then the subtitle: _40 must-read beauty tips from the women who know your bodies best!_ "I…hate her," Ivy realized.

Diana chuckled. "Good to see she's continued on to such important work since leaving us."

Ivy's leotard immediately deposited her phone into her hand so that she could somewhat covertly fire off an angry text.

 **You're embarrassing me at work.**

The reply didn't take long.

 **Jolene: last nite i had a dream that you, kitty and ma started like a spice girls type girlband and you called yourself Pumpkin Spice. so tough shit, Pumpkin Spice, we all get embarrassed sometimes**

"W—what?!" Ivy said aloud as she read the text. **But I didn't actually do that. That was a dream you had. You can't hold me accountable for what I do in your dreams.**

 **Jolene: reality is a human construct, bby**

And then the follow up:

 **Jolene: lol that was meant for damian. Works here too tho. Oh Jolene of infinite wisdom**

Ivy rolled her eyes. **I don't even know what you're talking about anymore.**

 **Jolene: IM UR MONSTER, FRANKENSTEIN**

A vine reached out of her leotard and grabbed her phone from her, pulling it back beneath the leaves without her direction. It was probably for the best, though.

"Are we ready to get started?" Clark asked, yanking Ivy's attention back to the room, where she noticed the once empty chairs were now full of her colleagues.

Ivy quickly rolled up the magazine and stuffed it under her chair, drawing an odd look from Damian where he sat across the table from her.

"So…" Clark continued, taking everyone's silence as an affirmative. "Who's up for an adventure?"

"Ooh, me!" Kara's hand shot up immediately.

Raven snorted. "Classic." And received a dirty look from Kara in response—well, as close to a dirty look as one could get from Kara, which was really just a frown with a scrunched nose.

Ivy sighed. "Care to elaborate?"

"We have discovered a planet," Clark proudly announced. "With an environment so far identical to Earth's. However, we still don't know what lives there. We don't know if the inhabitants resemble humans, or what languages they speak, or if they even exist. But there's no harm in trying to find out."

"Since we're not planning to colonize," Diana added.

"Right," Clark affirmed with a nod. "Essentially, the field trip is for research purposes, so we already have a main list of candidates, we just need a few volunteers to fill out the rest of the mission."

"So…Pam and J'onn, then," Damian guessed.

"I'll go," Mareena said, raising her hand. "If the environment is identical to Earth's, it might have whatever their version of Atlanteens are, right? Or at least water. If you're bringing Ivy to talk to the plants, I should probably go to communicate with the sea creatures, right?"

"I do more than 'talk to plants'," Ivy scoffed. "You know that right? You're aware that I have a PhD in my subject?"

The Justice League groaned unanimously. "If I were hit on the head and suddenly developed amnesia, I swear to God the only thing I'd still remember is that you have a PhD," Dinah facetiously assured her.

"Good," Clark grinned. "So Ivy and Mareena are a lock—,"

"No, wait, hold on," Ivy said, sitting forward. "I haven't agreed to anything yet. I need specifics. Like, how long will the trip last, mainly.

"Two weeks, if everything runs smoothly," Diana told her. "You'd leave tomorrow."

 _That's a long way to be away from Harley…that's a lot to ask of Anthony…_

"Wait, can I not go?" Kara asked, befuddled. "I want to go. I can't talk to anything, really, but it's a yellow sun, right?"

"It is," Clark revealed. "And you're free to go if you want to."

"I'll go," Damian said. "Might be good to have at least one normal person in the party, in case the inhabitants _are_ human. And we should bring Garfield too, if he's not already on your list."

"He is," Diana told him. "And that should round out the mission, unless anyone else feels passionately about their inclusion."

There were some dispersed head shakes around the table.

"Yeah, I'm good," Zachary said.

"Don't see why I should go if you're already bringing Kara," Jon agreed to sit this one out.

"So, Martian Manhunter, Supergirl, Poison Ivy, Beast Boy, Aquagirl, and Batman," Clark recited the list he'd been keeping.

"Sounds like some kinda Justice League," Damian remarked…receiving a chorus of puzzled looks in return, to which he sourly mumbled: "Jo would'a laughed."

/  
Harley was watching Pam from her standing chair in absolute wonderment as she packed her sample kits. "A whole other solar system…that's…I mean, that's crazy! Right? Are you scared?"

"No," Pam chuckled, zipping up her bag. "Darling, I'm an immortal metahuman. There are very few things that scare me, and space travel certainly isn't among them."

"Says the woman who squished my hand until it was numb on the way to our honeymoon," Harley laughed before affecting her sub-par Pam impression: "Plants prefer to stay rooted, Harleen,"

The redhead rolled her eyes, setting her equipment by the front door. "You know I don't have to go, right? I mean, I'd like to, I'll quite literally be going where no botanist has gone before, but if you want me to stay…someone can take my place on the mission."

Harley reached out for her hand, holding the green skin in her own, turning it over and pressing her wife's palm to her cheek. "What kinda selfish old woman would I be to deny Dr. Pamela Isley the opportunity to make her nerdy dreams come true?"

"The one I'm married to," Pam chuckled softly, stroking Harley's cheek with her thumb. "There will be other missions, Daffodil. If two weeks feels like too long…"

"Pfft," she playfully pushed her hand away. "You don't really think I'm that codependent, do you? Geez, Pam, why do you think we had kids?"

Pam frowned, pretending to thoughtfully consider the question. "So that we could find out what the perfect human being looks like?"

Harley snorted like the joke surprised her. "Well, yeah, definitely. But also so that they could eventually change my diapers like I changed theirs. It's _the cirrrrcle of liiife_!" she sang to the tune of the Lion King song.

"Fine, if you insist," Pam smiled, leaning over to give her a kiss, oddly happy at the fact that it somehow felt like before, when she and Harley saw eye-to-eye—physically, of course. "Jo should be here in a few minutes, and then Anthony will take the nightshift, OK?"

"OK," Harley affirmed with a grin…that slowly began to droop. "But, um…I guess you won't be able to call me or anything, right? Since you'll be in a different solar system and all. Rough on the cell reception."

"I'll be able to send video transmissions, but I can't receive them," Pam told her apologetically. "I'll keep you updated, I promise."

"Will you…be able to send stuff from the ship?" Harley wondered. "Like show me out the window?"

"I'm sure, yes," Pam smiled, kissing her on the cheek now. "I love you. I'll call you from the ship before we take off."

"Yeah, yeah, alright, get outta here," Harley waved her off. "Seriously, go have fun bonding with your son-in-law. You two are gonna have a blast, I just know it."

Pam groaned, slipping her glasses onto her face, paling her skin, and grabbing her equipment. "Don't remind me. And you know Jo's going to bring that slobber factory she calls a pet over, so perhaps it's me who should be wishing you luck."

"Well, jokes on her—and you, actually—I love dogs," Harley grinned. "I'll see you soon, seriously, get out of here." she blew Pam a kiss as the redhead stepped out onto the porch, giving one last wave before she shut the door behind her.

It was a half hour before Jo showed up…with the dog, as predicted.

"Hey, sorry," she pushed her way inside. "I forgot Terry needed my car for driver's ed, and then—like an idiot—I, of course, couldn't find the keys to the Lambo, and Damian took the Martin to work, and we don't take Tyson in the Mercedes, so I had to take Selina's Porche, which I'm pretty sure she's actively haunting, so…long story short, I know I said 9, it's 9:15, my bad…OK. Now I'm done."

"Good," Harley nodded. "That was exhausting to listen to. It must have been traumatic sifting through your pile of luxury cars—,"

"Only to end up in the haunted one?" Jo prompted. "Yeah, it was a shitfest. Anyway, are you hungry? Did Mom feed you?"

Harley sighed. "Can you make it sound like I'm a person and not your dog?"

Jo furrowed her brow. "Well…I'm Tyson's Mom, I wouldn't refer to myself in the third person, would I? would I?" she posed the same question for her dog using a different voice, and then slapped her knees.

In response, Tyson stood up on his hind legs, jumping up on her—tall enough that he was able to wrap his paws around her shoulders and lick her face.

Harley smiled at the display…she really did love dogs. All animals, really. But Pam wasn't much of an animal person, her plants were her pets, and it was sorta like Harley got to choose between kids or pets and she chose kids. Which are basically just super expensive human pets—or maybe animals are just furry kids? Either way, Harley had Jo, and Jo had a dog and lots of cats, so…she supposed things just had a way of working themselves out.

"Can we take Tyson on a walk?" she asked.

"Umm…yeah, sure," Jo smiled, looking at Harley in her chair. "I think you're gonna need a coat, though."

Harley pointed to the black down jacket hanging on the hook behind her. "That'll do, Pig."

Jo narrowed her eyes as she reached for the garment. "Are you…quoting _Babe_ or being a bitch?"

Shrugging, Harley folded her chair into a sitting position so Jo could put the jacket on her. "You tell me."

They were out on the sidewalk 5 minutes later, Tyson walking diligently between the two women, his leash in Jo's hand as Haley rolled beside her.

"So…" Jo began. "Mom and Damian, huh? Cramped in a spaceship for 5 days, that sounds like a fucking disaster waiting to happen."

"Could have been you instead of Damian," Harley reminded her, just because she had to. She thought about it a lot. "You could have seen another solar system…"

"Yeah…but then I wouldn't have been able to hang out with you," Jo smiled over at her. "And there aren't any dogs to walk in space, Ma. Where's the fun in that?"

Harley was silent for a moment, looking down at the ground just in front of her wheels. "Does he, um, get really excited if he sees a squirrel?"

"Mmm…nah," Jo decided. "He grew up around too many cats to really care."

"So he…wouldn't run off if he saw one?" Harley prompted.

"Nope, I don't think so."

"That's good…" Harley looked over at them, realizing most of Jo's attention was aimed at the park they were passing, her free hand skimming along the leaves of the hedge that separated it from the sidewalk. "Do you think I could…maybe…"

"Oh!" Jo whipped her head back around, looking almost embarrassed. "Sorry, did you want to walk him?"

"I, umm…yeah," Harley laughed a bit nervously, tentatively holding out her hand. "Can I?"

/

Ivy buckled herself in, tightening the straps that bridged her chest in an X-pattern until they were snug.

She glanced over at Damian who sat next to her, doing the same thing, and wished for the thousandth time that the seating had been optional rather than arranged. She would have much rather sit by Kara.

 _We'll be taking off in five minutes_ , J'onn's voice slithered through Ivy's thoughts. She supposed she would never truly get used to that, but she was clearly further along in the process than Mareena, who nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound.

Ivy took her phone out of the front pocket of her suit, dialing Harley and holding it up to her ear.

"Hey!" Harley answered, sounding like she was outside somewhere, judging by what Ivy guessed was wind interference. "You about to take off?"

"Five minutes," Ivy told her. "It's…" she turned her head away from Damian, hoping he wouldn't hear. "Feels almost silly, how much I think I'll miss you."

"Oh no," Harley laughed. "Maybe we are that codependent."

Ivy closed her eyes, letting a smile grow on her lips. "Please don't eat pizza every night."

"I make no promises," Harley told her. "But seriously, have fun, alright? Don't just spend the whole time missing me, that would be lame."

Sighing, Ivy said: "I love you. I'll see you in two weeks."

"Mwah!" Harley blew a kiss into the receiver. "See ya then. Oh! Wait, Jo wants to talk to Damian."

Ivy rolled her eyes. "Don't they have their own phones?"

"I forgot it in my locker," Damian murmured quietly beside her.

The redhead glanced over, noticing how he was refusing to look at her—likely because he was embarrassed—and sighed, handing the phone over.

"Hey," he greeted, then fell silent to listen. "I mean…sure," he continued. "You'll have to figure that ou—oh," he blushed a deep shade of red—something Ivy didn't even know was possible with his naturally tanned complexion. "You too."

The call had ended when Damian handed the phone back to her, mumbling: "Thanks," as they settled in for takeoff.

The Earth always looked so…insignificant, from any vantage point but right on top of it. Just a glassy blue orb, floating in empty space. Spinning, detached, the invisible forces of gravity all that kept it from flying off its axis.

Ivy always felt like she lost a bit of herself the moment her feet left the ground. The connection to her power weakened, drawn from her all too quickly. Ivy supposed…perhaps that's what it was like to die. You just…left your planet, left your little orbit behind for something different. Something new, something better, perhaps. And that's why Ivy never could. She was too intimately connected with the Earth to abandon it. These trips, these little excursions…is all she'd ever be permitted.

But the tricky thing is that this—leaving the familiar behind to go exploring—this was what living felt like too. And it was then Pam realized that she'd spent a lot of her life not living. Hiding. From her feelings, from her fears, from her humanity…in one way or another, she'd been closed off or shut down since she escaped Woodrue's laboratory. And slowly…day by day…Harleen Quinzel had patched her up, drawn her out, sewed her back together. She was whole again, finally. She could feel it now more than ever…as she hurdled towards a distant planet in another solar system.

Pamela Isley felt…complete. And that fact made her smile, broad enough for Damian to notice.

"Pretty…" he somewhat awkwardly remarked, nodding out the window. "I've…never traveled this far off-world before."

Ivy glanced over at him, deciding whether or not she wanted to engage with him in a conversation. "Neither have I," she finally admitted. "I…hear Terry has begun his driver's education course."

"Oh, um, yeah," Damian seemed almost pleasantly surprised at the subject change. "He was the only one that wanted to do it. Lilah said she only needed a flyer license anyway, and Daisy's just planning to try the test without the course."

"Mm," Pam nodded subtly. "Is Daisy still dispassionate about her night job?"

"She's dispassionate about most things," Damian revealed. "Most things without boobs, and—you know—a vagina, that is."

"Ha!" Pam let slip a sudden, genuine laugh. "Well I'm glad she's—fully come to terms with her sexuality."

"Jesus, you have no idea," he rested his head back against the seat, looking up at the ceiling. "She's like, somehow the female equivalent of Dick. Girls just…throw themselves at her."

Ivy was powerless against the grin that overtook her expression. "Well that's…fantastic news," she giggled.

/

"OK…" Anthony put his hand underneath the showerhead to gauge the temperature of the water. "I think we're ready to go. Arms?"

Harley tentatively lifted them, embarrassment blushing her cheeks as she allowed him to gently pull her shirt off over her head, setting it in the laundry hamper in the corner. Next he wrapped a strong arm around her lower back, holding her up off her chair so he could shuck off her pants and underwear before tossing them in the same hamper.

But Anthony was kind and clinical. He was her son, she knew there was no reason to really be embarrassed, he was just doing what he had to. But still…being so helpless would never feel completely right to her. And forcing her son to take a shower with her wasn't exactly what she'd call optimal.

Anthony carried her under the warm spray, setting her gently down in the shower chair, and adjusting the nozzle so it hit her chest.

"Remind me which one it is…?" he prompted, pointing to the array of handmade soaps and gels in the caddie.

"The blue one's for me," she told him, taking the loofa from his hand and waiting for him to hand her the correct soap, which he did.

"I'll step out until you need me, alright?"

"Yeah, OK," she smiled wanly at him. "Thank you."

Anthony leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, not caring that the water was now beating down on his back, wetting his board shorts. "No problem."

 **Day 2:**

Harley squealed when the message came in. "Jo, it's here! Hook it up to the TV!"

"Yeah, one minute, Ma," she called from the kitchen, unloading the last dish from the dishwasher. "Just let me—,"

"Jolene, I wanna watch the video!" Harley whined impatiently from the living room.

"Christ on a friggin cross," Jo muttered, wiping her hands on her pants. "Can you just be patient for two seconds?" she asked, rhetorically, as she left the kitchen, taking Harley's phone from her and syncing the display to the TV.

Harley watched her daughter anxiously, waiting for her to press play. And when she finally did, Pam's image showed up on screen, sitting in a high backed chair in front of the camera.

 _"_ _Evidently the red light means it's recording,"_ Pam said, frowning slightly before giving a little shrug. _"I'll record this again if it doesn't work."_

"I love her little space suit," Harley grinned. "It's so cute."

"It's called a flight suit, Ma," Jo corrected, taking a seat on the couch beside her. "The space suit is what she wears outside the ship."

Harley distractedly waved her off, her fingers brushing unceremoniously against Jo's eyeball as Pam continued.

 _"_ _They built these sunbeds for us—well, for Kara and I, specifically. They recharge us since we had to employ our sun-shield a few hours ago because we're getting so close,"_ Pam explained. _"So, I'm afraid there's not much to show you in terms of scenery today…"_ she rocked back in her chair, turning her head to what was probably a window. _"But soon…I promise,"_ she turned to smile back at the camera. _"I had a rather interesting conversation with Damian yesterday, which was odd, honestly, but evidently Daisy is really playing the field,"_ she laughed. _"It almost makes me love Jo more."_

Jo was about to scoff when Pam continued: _"And yes, Jolene, I'm sure you're sitting there. Rest assured it was a joke. And yes, you may now wipe that overplayed shock off of your face. I made a joke, I make jokes. Some people might even consider me…humorous."_

"No! Say it ain't so!" Jo gasped at the TV, making Harley laugh.

 _"_ _Anyway,"_ Pam sighed, a pleasant smile on her lips. _"I'm excited to be able to show you more, Harleen. Really, it's…well, right now everything feels a bit cramped, but conversing with the others hasn't been as terrible as I imagined. Garfield is a bit…enthusiastic, but he's spent most of our waking hours in the form of a dog, which Kara absolutely adores. And Mareena…she reminds me of Jo in some ways, but is also very much like her Mother. But anyway, I'll stop rambling."_ She waved to the camera. " _I hope everything is well. You'll see me tomorrow."_

 **Day 3:**

 _"_ _It's ethyl formate,"_ Pam was holding the camera in one hand, pointing out the picture window with the other. _"Do you see those brilliant pinks and blues?"_

Harley nodded like she was watching an episode of Dora the Explorer. "It's incredible."

 _"_ _It's the same gas that gives raspberries its taste!"_ Pam chuckled. _"And rum its smell, of course. The center of our galaxy…it smells like berries and tastes like booze, but is somehow…infinitely more beautiful than anything those gases could hope to create on Earth. I've studied these gas clouds for years but…getting to see it this close…"_ there were tears in her eyes when Pam turned back to the camera. _"It's truly surreal."_

 **Day 4:**

"Jo, will you hand me that blanket?" Harley asked, pointing the one folded over the back of the other couch, after pausing the video message.

"Of course," Jo obliged her, unfolding the blanket and laying it over her Mother's lap. "All good?"

"Mm…can you put it on my shoulders too?"

"Sure," Jo chuckled, pulling it up to her chin and tucking it behind her back so she sat completely cocooned in her chair. "Better?"

Harley nodded, turning her attention back to the TV, and pressing play on her phone.

 _"_ _It's a massive electrical current,"_ Pam was explaining to the camera. _"And it emanates from that black hole that you should just be able to…there!"_ she zoomed in with the camera. _"Absolutely terrifying, isn't it?"_ Pam laughed. _"We're staying clear of it, of course, don't want to be sucked into that mess…but in any case, the current is about 1.5 times the size of the Milky Way, so…"_ she turned the camera back around to face her, but had neglected to zoom back out, so it was really just an extremely detailed shot of her eyeball. _"In other words: massive."_

 **Day 5:**

"Are you sure there isn't a door open?" Harley's teeth chattered below the blankets. "Is the heat on?"

"Ma…" Jo sat down at her feet, a worried look on her face. "The thermostats at 80. You have to let me take your temperature."

Harley batted her daughter's hand away when she tried to raise it to her sweaty forehead. "Just…let me watch the video. We can do that afterwards."

Jo groaned with frustration, snatching the phone off the armrest to press play.

There was an excited smile on Pam's face, and she gave a big wave to the camera. _"We finally touched down!"_ she exclaimed, grinning over her shoulder at the lush, green backdrop. _"It's—Harleen, this planet is still in its prehistoric age, it seems. It's—there are so many species of plants that have been long extinct on Earth, it's…I truly can't believe I'm actually here. Like, on a list of things I find beautiful, it's basically you, the kids, the grandkids, and then what you're seeing behind you. I can't even—,"_

 _"_ _Pamela, look!"_ they heard Damian's voice from somewhere off camera. _"Have you seen this?"_

Pam looked in his direction, her eyes lighting up at whatever she saw. _"I'm—I'm so sorry, Darling, I think I need to cut this short today. I wish you were here, truly, I do. I love you, I'll have more tomorrow—and hopefully more coherent thoughts."_

"OK," Jo said as the screen went to black. "Ma, you obviously have a fever."

"No," Harley shook her head against the pillow. "I don't get sick. Not since your Mom gave me the vaccine."

"Ma…" Jo said with a warning tone. "Don't make me call Anthony. I'm serious, I will. Or maybe I'll call Karen! Who knows! I'm dangerous and unpredictable." She leaned over to get the thermometer off of the coffee table—the one she'd already pulled out earlier that morning because of Harley's bizarre behavior. "Now open your mouth or imma have to go through the back door. I'm serious, I am not afraid to go rectal."

"Fine!" Harley tried to sound exasperated, but it came off a bit…shaky. "Just do it already."


	78. Chapter 78

Harley let her hand creep out from under the blanket to reach out and touch the man's foot on the stretcher they were passing. It was ice cold. "You think he's dead?"

"Yeah, Ma, and I'm gonna need you to keep your hands to yourself," Jo took her arm and pushed it back under the blanket.

"Why would you…take me to a place where people die, Jolene?" Harley wondered, her skin so clammy even the baggy sweatshirt she was wearing was uncomfortable.

"People die everywhere, Ma," Jo reminded her, pushing her through the crowded lobby and up to the counter. "The hospital is also where people get better."

"But—,"

Harley was interrupted by the nurse behind the desk. "Symptoms?" she asked, without looking up.

"Um, fever," Jo told her. "High fever, but—,"

"Take a seat; we'll be with you as soon as possible."

Jo blinked, obviously surprised by the woman's abruptness. "Well, actually, I'd like to speak with the hospital administrator, if that's at all possible."

The nurse finally looked up from her paperwork, plastering a condescending smile on her face. "No, it's not at all possible."

"It's f—fine, we can wa—," Harley's sneeze interrupted her sentence.

Jo cleared her throat. "Ma'am, could you do me the favor of telling me the name of the hospital we're standing in? The one you're employed by?"

The nurse raised an eyebrow, looking at Jo like she was either stupid or lost. "Martha Wayne Memorial Hospital," was her answer.

"Well ain't that just the darndest thing," Jo shook her head with a chuckle, pulling her wallet out of her pocket. "Now, I would ask whose dick I have to suck to get a second look, but lucky me, 22 years ago I sucked the right one." She showed the woman her driver's license. "Jolene Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you. You might recognize me from your paychecks."

"She's spoiled," Harley apologized as the nurse begrudging picked up the phone.

"Famously," Jo agreed.

/

 _"_ _Wow…" Harley whistled, doing a slow spin, studying every detail she could take in, her fingers running lightly across the dust laden furniture. "I know a lot of terrible stuff happened to you here, Pamela, but…man, I would'a killed to grow up in a place like this. How'd you keep it?"_

 _Pam let her eyes drift over the shelves, the table, the now-antique radio… "I inherited it," she murmured. "Most people suspected I murdered them, but no one could prove it. And I never let them find the complete bodies, just enough to where it was clear they were dead."_

 _Harley was aware that probably should have freaked her out a bit more, but her job as a psychiatrist was not to judge, and as a wife…as far as she was concerned, they had it coming._

 _"_ _I never…changed anything, all these years," Pam told her, gesturing vaguely around the parlor. "This is all them."_

 _Dreary. Suffocating. Nothing like how Pam decorated their house—all natural light, bright colors and a photograph on every surface. Here, there were none, save one family photo. Posed. Pamela perhaps 5 years old, wearing a blue dress, expression austere, matching her Mother's almost perfectly. Harley supposed she'd been trained to pose like that._

 _"_ _Is your bedroom still the same?"_

 _"_ _Yes," Pam chuckled as Harley grinned, the blonde waggling her eyebrows. "Third door on the right," Pam nodded up the stairs._

 _Harley clasped Pam's hand in her own. "Lead the way."_

 _The redhead obliged with a sigh, ascending the stairs with slow steps, steps that grew heavy as they passed the first door. Pamela quickly looked away, studying her feet until they'd safely passed it._

 _Briefly, Harley wondered if her wife believed in ghosts. But 9 years was a long time to be married and not realize the woman sleeping next to you is actively worrying about hauntings._

 _When they arrived at the third door, Pam just stopped. Didn't reach out. Didn't twist the handle. Just stood and stared at the wooden door in front of them._

 _So Harley took it upon herself, gingerly pushing the door open to find a very…clean room behind it. Books lined the shelves, not a single one crooked. The small bed, made up with ivory sheets and a matching comforter, looked as though Pamela could have just made it this morning. But the plants were dead on the windowsill, and Harley felt Pam's shoulders sink beside her at the sight._

 _Upon entering the room fully, Harley noticed the first thing she would consider out of place—a scattering of what looked like porcelain shards lying near the far wall. "What happened there?"_

 _When she glanced back at Pam, the redhead was once again starring at her shoes. Her words, when she did speak, came out shaky. "I broke her."_

 _Harley raised an eyebrow. "Her?"_

 _"_ _My friend," Pamela mumbled. "I got angry, and I broke her."_

 _The blonde frowned as she looked back at the shattered porcelain. It must have been a doll, she realized, making out a bright blue eye and a rosy cheek amongst the pieces. "Do you…want to bring her back home with us? We can get some krazy glue, try and put her back together, whaddya say?"_

 _"_ _It's no use," Pamela told her, sitting down on the bed. "I ruined her."_

 _"_ _Well, there's no harm in trying, right?" Harley smiled brightly. "Go find a shoebox or something."_

"What's she talking about?" Anthony asked, lowering himself into the second chair by the bed and handing Jo the coffee he'd brought her.

Jo shook her head as she took the cup from him. "I don't know. The doctors have been working to get her fever down, but she's still delirious."

"Have they figured out what's causing it yet?"

Shrugging, Jo said: "they drew blood, took that down to the lab, but have yet to identify an antigen, I guess. They gave her like a 300cc bolus, and have her on 300ml of fluids for the time being. And oxygen," she nodded towards the breathing tube in her nose. "That's all I know."

Anthony grabbed Harley's chart off the foot of the bed to read over it. "Have you…had to tell them anything?"

"No," Jo mumbled, listening as Harley moaned with pain. "Not yet."

"Dr. Layla Leeland?" Anthony read aloud, almost laughing. "Sounds a little comic-booky."

"Exactly what I said," Jo smiled wanly. "She said she'd be back in a few minutes."

"Have you done any background on her yet?" Anthony wondered, placing the chart back where he'd found it. "In case we need to provide some incentive for her to keep our secret?"

"Oh…no," Jo took another sip of her coffee. "I don't have the energy for that. She'll keep our secret, and treat Ma right, or I'll straight up fucking kill her. It's as simple as that."

"Charming."

"Famously."

/

"What is it?" Kara asked, the awe in her voice palpable as she knelt down near a kapok tree.

Ivy smiled. "Well, in appearance, it seems almost identical to the Protea cynaroides, better known as the King Protea or a sugarbush, if you'd prefer the higher classification."

Kara furrowed her brow. "What's—um—what does that mean, exactly?"

"See this?" Ivy prompted, pointing to the bright pink petals surrounding the white, spiny head of the flower. "This is what makes this member of the protea family so distinct. It has the largest flower head in the genus. Still not an exact match to what we have on Earth, though," she explained. "This head is far larger. It actually compares more favorably to ancestors of the king protea I've seen through fossils, ancestors that date back nearly 65 million years, back to when South Africa was a tropical forest."

Kara was shaking her head. "That's…like…mind-boggling. And so awesome! My wife, Lena—,"

"Yes, I know who your wife is, Kara," Ivy laughed, snapping a picture of the flower from yet another angle.

"Right, duh," Kara blushed. "Well she's a total whiz at like mechanical stuff. Engineering is her jam, and I just…I absolutely love that she loves it. She gets so passionate about it, and it makes me so happy to see her eyes light up. But they're machines, you know? Sometimes I don't see what she sees. But I, umm…do you ever bring home flowers from work? Harley must love that, being surrounded by all that beauty all the time."

Ivy studied the flower for another moment before looking over at her colleague. "In truth, Harley doesn't really care for gardening. She insists that I'm her favorite flower," she smiled. "She does like daffodils, though. I built her a window box for our bedroom, so she can look at them while I'm away in the days…" Ivy shrugged. "Whether or not they bring her comfort, I'm not sure, but I'd like to think she has a special fondness for them."

"Lena once filled my entire office with roses," Kara smiled right back. "And I took good care of them, too!" she quickly assured her. "We weren't even dating yet, she just sent them to me"

Ivy grinned. "I sent Harleen a bouquet of daffodils the first day I met her. I believe she saw it as a threat…" the redhead admitted. "Which is partially true, I suppose. But…she was also really cute."

Kara giggled. "I like your love story."

"Yeah," Ivy smiled down at the flower. "Me too."

/

 **Day 6**

"Can I watch the video, Jolene?" Harley croaked, her voice hoarse. "Did she send the video yet?"

"…Jo?"

She looked over to find her daughter asleep, curled up on one of the chairs beside the bed, wearing her white leather jacket like a blanket.

"Jolene," Harley tried again, reaching her hand out this time, careful not to jostle her iv too much. "I wanna watch the video, OK?"

But before she could poke her, Carrie was entering through the door, dressed in her Sunday best, a duffle bag under her arm. "Hey, how about we let her sleep a little, eh, Dr. Q?" she whispered with a smile, taking Harley's outstretched hand on her own and squeezing gently as she sat down in the empty chair.

"You look nice," Harley smiled weakly at the redhead.

"Courtney makes me go to church with her on Sundays," Carrie explained with a soft smile. "But yeah, I clean up pretty nice, right?"

"So nice," Harley assured her, earnestness replacing the smile on her face. "Caroline, can you help me?"

"Yeah, anything."

"Pammy sent me a video from outer space," she told her. "And they told me how to open it on my phone…but I—,"

"Say no more," Carrie pat her hand, placing it back under the covers, and grabbed the cellphone from the bedside table, opening the new video with a few short clicks. Then she held it up so Harley could see.

 _"_ _Hi!"_ Pam greeted happily, the sound jolting Jo awake in the chair. _"First official day here, sun up to sundown, so it'll mostly just be work for me, but Kara and Beast Boy are going exploring, and they promised they'd take a civilian camera to get some footage for you."_

Harley grinned at that.

 _"_ _I…found this flower that reminded me of you,"_ Pam said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear almost shyly, before she reached down below the camera and came back with a bright yellow flower encased in glass. _"I know you're not terribly enthusiastic about gardening, but…"_

"Please tell me about it _,_ " Harley whispered.

 _"_ _It's similar in appearance to a Blackeyed Susan, but as you can see…"_ Pam smiled as she brought it closer to the camera. _"Instead of black, the 'eye' of the flower is—,"_

"Blue," Harley breathed.

 _"—_ _blue. Like your eyes, and the yellow is like your…_ " Pam cleared her throat, blushing slightly as she set the flower back down _. "You get the point. I don't want to bore you, I just…want to thank you for encouraging me to come here, it's…I'm honestly not sure I'd trade this experience for anything in the world."_

The doctor came in just as Ivy was blowing her a kiss. _"Be good."_

"I love you," Harley whispered back.

"Good morning, Dr. Quinzel," the doctor—a woman, roughly Anthony's age and Jo's height, with tanned skin and short, dark hair—greeted. "I'm glad you seem to be feeling a bit better."

"My wife called me," Harley smiled happily.

The doctor cleared her throat. "Will she be arriving soon?"

"Only 8 more days," Harley told her. "Hopefully I'll be outta here by then."

"Right," the woman smiled placidly at her, then rested her hand on Jo's shoulder, who jumped at the contact. "Mrs. Wayne, can we speak outside for a moment?"

"Um, yeah," Jo mumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes and setting her jacket on the arm of the chair. "I'll be right back, Ma. You think you can keep Carrie entertained?"

Harley gave her a thumbs up below the blanket and Jo followed Dr. Leeland out of the room, leaning against the wall just outside as the door shut behind them, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Her blood cultures come back?" Jo wondered.

The doctor sighed. "They did, yes."

"And?" Jo impatiently prompted.

Pursing her lips, Layla said: "And I'm pretty confused by the results, in all honesty. You seem like an intelligent woman, and your Mother herself is a doctor, so I'm a little confused as to why you'd omit relevant information from the medical history you provided for her."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look," Dr. Leeland sighed. "Jolene—can I call you Jolene?"

"You can call me whatever the fuck you want, as long as you get my Mother out of that hospital bed."

Leaning against the wall now as well, the woman said: "her immune system is collapsing. It's going fast, and hard, and aside from old age, we've really got nothing to pin it on. She's dying, quite frankly. And her body is absorbing antigens like some flood gate has suddenly been opened."

"God-fucking-damnit," Jo cursed, waiting for the passing nurse to disappear down the hall, and then grabbing the doctor suddenly by the collar of her shirt, silencing her before she could yelp with a firm hand over her mouth, and wrestling her into the janitor's closet, pushing her against the shelf of chemicals and shutting the door swiftly behind them.

/

 **Day 7**

 _"_ _Shhhh…" Pam clamped her hand over Harley's mouth as the footsteps grew closer, but refused to remove her fingers, causing Harley to whimper and squirm where she was pinned against the wall. "You're going to get me fired," she teased in a whisper._

 _"_ _Mmm—mm—mmm," Harley tried to force out despite Pam's hand, before the footsteps fell away and Pam removed it. "Bruce once forgot to turn off his comm during one of he and Selina's rooftop rendezvous," Harley laughed. "There's no way he's firing you for this."_

 _"_ _They'll be serving food soon," Pam reminded her. "Are you sure you don't want to get back to the party?"_

 _"_ _Umm…" the blonde yanked her into a rather sloppy, overzealous kiss. "Yep, pretty sure. And there's something else on your menu anyway. Can't be sure, but I really don't think they're serving it at the party."_

 _"_ _Fine," Pam sighed, though her smirk betrayed her as she sunk to her knees._

 _"_ _Yeah," Harley's eyes rolled back in her head as she grabbed a fist-full of red hair. "Pretty damn sure."_

Harley stared blankly up at the ceiling in a pool of sweat, her mind blinking in and out of reality.

That was fine, she decided. She saw how nervous her kids were, how they clutched her hands, pacing nervously, never straying more than a few feet from her room.

She didn't envy them.

Reality seemed overrated at this point.

 _"_ _Our girl." Tears gathered in Harley's eyes as she held her for the first time, felt her soft skin below her fingers, the sounds of her cries like music to her ears._

 _Pam smiled proudly, holding Anthony to her side, the boy standing on his tippy-toes to get a better look at his little sister._

 _Harley's heart danced in her chest at the sight of the baby's bright green eyes, her lashes fluttering open with an already natural elegance. "You really are Jolene, aren't you?"_

So many…so many beautiful things she'd seen.

Harley smiled to herself. She'd wanted to be a Mom so bad when she was little. She just wanted to take care of everything, all the…puppies and the…kittens, and the…birds and the babies, too. Her babies had been so beautiful. And then her babies had babies, and they were beautiful too.

"I want to see my grandbabies," Harley hoped she said that aloud. There was really no way to tell. She was hot, and cold, and confused and her whole body ached, and the ringing in her ears just wouldn't stop. "Please? Can I see them?"

"Of course, Ma," there was a hand on Harley's forehead now. _Anthony, my sweet boy_. "Duke should be here in a few minutes, and the triplets will be by this afternoon, as soon as they get out of school."

 _"_ _Mama, do you…think people will like me? Even though I have two moms?" Anthony wondered, a slight frown in his features._

 _Harley frowned herself, pulling him up higher on her lap and using the comb to find his hair's natural part. "Why would they dislike you because of that? Everybody likes moms."_

 _"_ _Well, Damian said most boys have a Dad to teach them dad-stuff," Anthony explained. "Like how to fight and be tough."_

 _Harley chuckled, kissing the section of hair she'd just brushed, messing it up just a bit, though that was fixed with another comb-through. "In case you weren't aware, Little Man, I'm a pretty tough lady," she informed him. "I actually work with Damian's Dad, bein' tough and stuff. And you've seen some of the awesome stuff Mom can do, right?"_

 _"_ _Yeah," Anthony grinned._

 _"_ _Well, then wham, bam, thank you, Ma'am," she alternated playful punches with each word. "What more do you need?"_

 _He was silent for a moment before he turned around in her lap, looking up at her with big blue eyes, lip quivering slightly. "I don't have to be tough, though, do I?"_

 _"_ _You don't have to be anything you don't want to be," Harley assured him, giving him a boop on the nose. "Except for my baby. You always gotta be that. It's mandatory."_

 _"_ _Even when my sister comes?" the boy asked, his voice small._

 _Harley smiled, pressing a kiss against his forehead. "Especially when your sister comes."_

"Hey, Nana," Daisy was smiling above her, holding her hand, not seeming to care how clammy it was. "Can you believe it? 56 years without a cold, and you let Mom babysit you for like 4 days and end up here. Classic."

Harley thought to laugh, she wanted to laugh. In her head, she did laugh. And that had to be good enough. "She never…made any money…babysitting."

"Yeah, well, that's because we were rich, and I didn't have to," Jo reminded her.

"Excuses, excuses," Delilah teased, standing on Harley's other side. "I bet Grandma'll be really happy to see you. Only 5 more days."

Harley blinked. "No, that's…no that's not…Jolene," she felt her heart beat faster in her chest. "I missed a video, I missed so many videos."

Jo pushed the sweat-dampened hair back from her Mother's face. "Only two, Ma. You've been sleeping a lot. The doctor said that's good."

"Did she…tell you what was wrong?" Harley asked, trying to focus her eyes. "Does she know why I'm so sick?"

"She's got a pretty good guess," Jo told her. "We're going to discuss it with Mom when she gets back."

"Oh! I—I want to see the videos. I missed all the videos," Harley repeated. "Did she send them?"

"She did, check it out," Terry smiled, turning her phone around so that she could see.

The video started with some aerial shots of a lush, green landscape…Harley wished she was there. She wished she was with Pam. Not that Pam was here, in this dreary hospital. Pam hated hospitals, but she loved the forest, and Harley loved warm weather.

 _Harley giggled as she rolled them over on the sand, peppering playful kisses on Pam's cheeks, and then her lips, running her fingers lightly over the swell of her breasts below her bikini, and down her bare stomach._

 _"_ _You know what I hate about vacations?" Pam prompted, not quite responding to Harley's tickling how she imagined._

 _"_ _What?" Harley asked, her mood sobering at the look in Pam's eyes._

 _Pam leaned up on her elbows until their lips were only a breath apart. "They always have to end."_

Pam cursed when the camera wouldn't balance, so she set it on the ground, giving them just a shot of her bare feet. But that didn't last long, because something grabbed the camera and raised itself until they could see her face. Harley guessed she'd summoned a vine or a root.

 _"_ _Sorry about that, Harl. I hope the video worked for you, Damian—what was the word?"_ she asked, turning her head off camera.

 _"_ _Spliced!"_ Damian called back.

 _"_ _Spliced,"_ Pam nodded back at the camera. _"He said he'd splice the video Kara took for you and add it at the beginning of this video. Isn't this planet absolutely gorgeous?"_

"Not as gorgeous as you, Pammy," Harley assured her.

 _"_ _Oh! And you'll never believe what we saw!"_ Pam's eyes lit up with excitement. _"We saw a creature that very closely resembled…wait for it…"_ she grinned.

"I wanna know!"

 _"_ _A Dilophosaurus,"_ Pam sounded like she didn't quite believe her own words. " _I know how much you love dinosaurs, and Harley—they're living here. Truly. I saw it with my own two eyes."_

"Did you get a picture?" Harley asked, her eyes filling with tears.

 _"_ _And I got a picture! I—look!"_ Pam held up the screen of another camera, close enough that Harley could see the creature's rough skin. It really was a dinosaur.

Duke chuckled softly beside her, wiping her tears as they fell down her cheek. "I didn't know you were so into dinosaurs, Nana."

 _"_ _I promise I'll take more if he shows up again,"_ Pam told her. _"Kara played scrabble with me last night because it was scrabble night, of course,"_ she chuckled to herself. _"I imagined you and Anthony sitting at the table doing the same thing, and I sincerely hope you kicked his ass."_

Harley smiled weakly, turning to Anthony, who stood in the corner of the room. "Did we play scrabble?"

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Anthony nodded, smiling without teeth. "She's right. You kicked my ass."

/

 **Day 14**

Jo paced back and forth on the sidewalk outside the hospital, her phone pressed to her ear, checking her watch over and over.

 _"_ _You've reached Penelope Quinzel,"_ Pam's voicemail said. _"I'm sorry I'm away at the moment. If you leave a message, I'll get back to you at my earliest convenience."_

Jo sighed just before the beep, and then launched in. "Mom, when you touch down you're gonna be hit with a wave of shit. Ma's in the hospital, and she's...fuck, she's really sick. Like _really_ sick. Martha Wayne, OK? Me and Anthony are already here, just meet us, alright? But listen—you gotta give me a call when you're headed over. It's _imperative_ that you don't come bursting in, guns blazing. I'm serious, Mom. Please. I'll meet you outside and get you up to speed."

/

"Well, I really don't see what that has to do with me," Pam shrugged, buttoning her blazer and turning her phone on. "If you forget your toothpaste, you forget your toothpaste. That's not my problem, it's my daughter's."

"I'm just saying, forcing me to use Kara's kiddy unicorn paste or whatever the fuck is pretty cruel, even for you," Damian bent over to tie his shoe.

Pam frowned at her phone screen. "Speaking of my daughter…" she clicked on the notification. "She left me a voicemail…"

Damian looked up at her. "You're lying. There's nothing she irrationally hates more."

"Note the surprise in my voice," Pam held the phone to her ear. _"Mom, when you touch down you're gonna be hit with a wave of shit. Ma's in the hospital, and she's...fuck, she's really sick. Like really sick. Martha Wayne, OK? Me and Anthony are already here, just meet us, alright? Bu—,"_ Pam dropped the phone to her side, a look of horror on her face.

"What?" Damian looked puzzled, but that quickly melted into concern. "Is she OK? Are the kids alright?"

Pam turned without answering him, beginning at a sprint towards the parking lot, stopping at the door to kick her heels off.

/

 _"_ _You're a menace, Harley Quinzel!" the lifeguard shouted at her for the thousandth time. "DON'T RUN ON THE DECK!"_

 _"_ _Hey, cool whistle, lady!" Harley giggled as she ran and cannonballed into the pool, splashing her brother in the face. Sucker forgot to close his eyes too. "Ha! Beat that!" she challenged as she broke through the surface._

 _Her brother splashed her right back. "You're gonna get us kicked out, Harley."_

 _"_ _Pfft, fat chance," Harley laughed, turning to the lifeguard. "This here is my pool, Lady. Ask anybody!"_

Jo chuckled, lifting her head from where it lay on Harley's leg. "You totally got kicked out, didn't you?"

Harley just nodded. "So," she coughed. "Now you see…why I'm…going to hell."

"Ma, stop it," Anthony waved her off with a surprising degree of earnestness. "I know you didn't raise us religious, but I'm still pretty sure that's not how it works."

"Nope," Harley shook her head as best she could. "Let's be real, guys. The devil wants me something fierce."

"Alright, fine," Anthony acquiesced, clearly fighting to keep his tears at bay. "What are you going to do once you get to Hell?"

Harley smiled wide enough to show her teeth. "I'm gonna…find your mom's mother…show her these fingers," she held up her shaking index and middle fingers, "no wait, scratch that…These fingers," she amended, adding her ring finger to the ensemble. "Tell her…they spent…a considerable amount of time inside her daughter…and then poke her in the eyes with 'em."

Jo burst out laughing—she seemed unable to help herself. "That's a fantastic plan."

Anthony was less impressed, but his eyeroll was clearly affectionate.

Slowly, the smile began to drain from Harley's face. "I'm so tired," she said, her words nothing more than wispy breaths at this point. "I'm…fighting…working…so hard."

"We know, Ma," Anthony assured her, his voice choked with emotion. "We know, but you gotta wait for Mom."

"Is…Pammy coming?" Harley wondered, hope in her eyes, though it was hard to discern with their now clouded appearance. "I…miss her…so much."

"We know," Anthony repeated, letting a tear slip down his cheek as he brushed gentle fingers through her hair. "And we're going to stay right here until she comes. Right by your side."

"You're...such a good boy, Anthony," Harley told him, her voice full of admiration. "Such a…kind…kind man. Thank you. So…so…much."

"For what?" Anthony wiped his eyes. "It's _me_ who should be thanking _you_."

Harley shook her head gently. "Thank you…. for…being my Son. Number 4…I'm so…happy it was you."

Wordlessly, Anthony squeezed her hand, laying his head down on her chest. "It was my pleasure," he finally breathed, his tears creating a wet spot on the blanket, Harley's hand moving to rest atop his head.

That's when the door slammed open. Pam standing, panting, in the doorway. "Harleen! I—," she moved quickly to her side, taking the place beside her Anthony had just vacated because of how severely he'd been startled. She looked absolutely terrified. "Gaia, Baby, I'm so sorry! I'm—,"

"No!" Jo shouted as Pam went to kiss her, grabbing her Mother by the shoulders and yanking her backwards. "You're poison! Christ, she doesn't have an immune system right now! That's what I tried to fucking tell you in the message, did you not listen?! I said call me before you got here!"

"Jo, it's fine, I'll take care of it," Anthony said, putting a kind arm around Pam's shoulder, turning her stricken expression away from Harley and Jo and out the door, which he closed behind them as he led Pam back into the hallway.

"Fuck!" Jo yelled, trying to take deep breaths to calm herself. "She could have killed you just then!"

Harley's eyes had welled up with tears, and she had to swallow three times before she was able to speak. "I…want…to see her."

"Ma, fuck," Jo ran a hand through her hair, grabbing the roots at the base of her scalp. "She's gotta get a hazmat suit on. She's the reason why you're here in the first place."

Harley's eyes widened. "You…you can't…she can't know…you can't tell her that."

Jo shook her head, pulling harder. "This has to be about you right now, Ma. This can't be about her."

Softening with sympathy, Harley gazed up at her daughter. When she held out a shaking hand, Jo took it, sitting back down in the chair. "Baby," she whispered, cupping Jo's face in her hand. "She's who I was waiting for."

Jo closed her eyes, clutching her Mother's hand closer to her cheek. "But that means you're leaving the rest of us."

Harley nodded subtly. "She's…my person."

Green eyes filling with tears, Jo turned her face to kiss Harley's palm. "Then, I have to go."

Harley nodded again, using all her strength to pull her daughter close and whisper: "you were just a kid. I forgave you a long time ago."

/

Pam watched Jo emerge from the room, wiping away her tears and leaving the door open behind her for Pam. All she offered was a nod—one for both she and Anthony—before starting down the hallway, towards the elevator.

"Where are you going?" Anthony shouted after her.

"I don't know," Jo answered, her voice cracking as the elevator doors shut on her.

Pam stared into the hospital room, her feet frozen to the spot. _No_ , was all she could think. _Please, God, no._

Anthony quietly sniffed beside her, nodding into the room. "She needs to see you."

The first thing Pam noticed, once she got a good look at her, was that Harley's skin had lost nearly all its color. She was as white as a ghost, as white as Selina.

Her forehead was wet with sweat, her eyes were cloudy, and her lips were chapped. She looked…already dead, aside from the subtle flick of her tongue against her bottom lip, the twitch of her pupil…

 _Harleen_ …

The regret in that moment. The remorse. Pam was sure she was about to be sick. She hated herself so much.

"I never should have left," she whispered.

But Harley shook her head, a tear rolling down her cheek. "You…wouldn't…trade it…for anything," she reminded her.

"No, Harleen, I would!" Pam assured her, sitting down in the chair beside her. "I'd trade all of it for even another moment here with you."

"You…don't…want to see me…like this," Harley whispered. "I'm 26…remember? With…big tits, and…a…nice ass."

Pam chuckled through the tears that had gathered in her eyes. "The you that's sitting in front of me, is always my favorite you. Because she's the one I get to have right now."

Harley stared silently for a moment, just watching her, and Pam waited as tears began to flow down her wife's pale cheeks. "I'm scared, Red."

"Why?" Pam whispered.

"I'm afraid I'll miss you," Harley admitted as her tears pooled on her jaw, stopped by the blankets.

 _Then you can't be afraid, Pamela. You have to be brave_.

"Oh, I'm not so great," Pam wiped her eyes. "I am small. Insignificant. Especially in comparison to the journey you're about to embark on. Where you're going? I can't follow. And that's a fault of mine, not yours. Grow bigger than me," she smiled as best she could.

Harley smiled right back, hers equally pained, tears still falling down her cheeks. "You're so…perfect, Pammy."

Pam shook her head, getting out of the chair to kneel beside her, clutching her hand to her chest. "I'm too human to be perfect. But perfect or not, you, Harleen Quinzel, are the best thing that ever happened to me."

This smile was more genuine, less sad. "Can I have a kiss?"

Shaking her head again, Pam said: "You heard Jo. You're not strong enough."

Harley brushed her thumb across Pam's knuckles. "I know."

Bruce…Selina…Harley. Her best friends and the love of her life. The love of a thousand lifetimes. She'd snuffed each one out. That's what Harley was asking of her. Just like Bruce, and just like Selina. She needed Pam's help. She was suffering. But…but Pam didn't understand! She'd—only a moment ago—been so happy! She was coming home to a family that loved her, not to…this. Not a hospital room, not a dying wife.

"I wasn't prepared to say goodbye," Pam murmured, dropping her head, shoulders shaking. "I…wanted to show you pictures of dinosaurs."

"Come here," Harley tried to pull her onto the bed by her shoulders, but of course she was too weak do to it on her own, so Pam had to climb in beside her, settling on her side, her arm around Harley's waist—the same position they woke up in every morning. "Will…will you wait…for me?" she asked, blue eyes on Pam's lips rather than her eyes.

Pam nodded against the pillow. "In every timeline. In every universe. I'd choose you every time, Harleen Quinzel."

Harley brushed a strand of red hair behind Pam's ear, fingers lingering on her cheek, trailing across her jaw… "Tu es…mon Totino."

Pam blinked. "What?"

And Harley smiled, showing her teeth this time, wide and genuine. "I love you. So much, Pamela. So much. This life you gave me…was so much better than I deserved."

This time, when Harley leaned in to kiss her, Pamela didn't close her eyes. But she did watch as Harley closed hers. Got her final look at those bright blue irises before they closed forever. Blissfully, though. And Pamela kissed her as only she could. Drinking her in. All of her. Until there was nothing left.

 ** _In loving memory of_**

 ** _Harleen Frances Quinzel_**

 ** _A Wife, A Mother, and A Truly Unique Individual_**

 ** _1971-2053_**

 ** _"_** ** _Everybody deserves somebody."_**


	79. Chapter 79

Over and over again, Pam trailed her fingers tenderly down Harley's cheek. Feeling the warmth of her skin disappear below her fingertips.

"You look like you're sleeping," she whispered, dragging the soft pads over her wife's lips.

The _body_ of her wife.

The real Harley was gone.

And no matter how hard Pam pressed their foreheads together, no matter how many times she kissed her lips or her cheeks or her forehead, and no matter what she whispered softly in her ear—

She wasn't coming back.

"I'm so sorry," Pam said again and again until the words lost their meaning, "Please, come back. I love you, please. I'm not ready for you to leave. I'll…please, I'll do anything."

Her insides felt like they were screaming. She wanted to rip her own heart out of her chest and give it to Harley, like somehow that would make it better. She just wanted Harley back!

Pam wrapped her arm around Harley's waist and pulled her closer, until the blonde's limp head lay in the crook of her neck. "Daffodil…"

She wanted to cry, but her body hurt too much for tears to come. She just…wasn't ready to be sad or angry. Wasn't ready to do anything but plead to whatever Gods or Goddess might be watching over them. And hate herself. That came easily, it turned out.

Ivy hated herself, in that moment, more than she'd ever hated any man. More than she'd hated Booster Gold, more than she'd hated her Father…more than she hated Jason Woodrue. She'd jump back on that table in a heartbeat, tie herself down with leather, submit to his every sadistic whim, for just one more minute with Harley. Just one more smile. One more wink. One more giggle.

Every single hardship she'd ever faced. Any one of them, or all at once. Didn't matter to her. She'd burn down an entire forest herself. Bring gasoline and a match, and watch it all go up in flames. Just for one more…moment, second, _millisecond_.

"Just please come back," Pam whispered into her hair. "Please!"

She'd missed her so much on the trip. Just 14 days had felt like a death march by the end of it. A lifetime without Harley? A thousand, million, billion lifetimes until the end of time itself? Impossible.

Anthony eventually had to approach the bed, his eyes bloodshot, face tear-stained. He rested a comforting hand on Pam's back. "Mom, we're going to have to leave her be pretty soon."

Pam clutched the body tighter to her chest. "Tell her I'll be better this time, Anthony. Please, I—just give me another chance, I'll do better, I swear!"

"Mom," Anthony knelt down beside her. "You are the best parent, the best friend, and the best partner anyone could ask for. This has nothing to do with you. It was…" he had to clear his throat to get his words out, "just her time, and she left this world feeling loved, and feeling fulfilled. I know that." He assured her. "She told me. Your videos? They're what sustained her until you got back. She watched them over and over again, and talked to them like you were really there in the room with her. She loved seeing you happy, I promise. And she was so glad you made it back in time to say goodbye. She was waiting, patiently. And when you came?" Anthony leaned over to kiss Pam on the cheek. "Relief. That's what I saw."

When the hospital staff entered a half hour later to clean the room, Anthony had to pry her away from Harley as she screamed. He picked her up in his arms and held her close to his chest, letting her lean down and kiss Harley's lips one last time before he carried her out of the room, whispering: "I love you, Ma," as he passed through the doorway, and then: "I'll be OK, Mom," to Pam, holding her tighter, like the thought of letting her go was just as terrifying as it had been for Pam to let Harley go.

/

Anthony entered the house first, carrying his Mother's equipment over the threshold. Pam was still in the car, sitting, shell-shocked, in the passenger seat.

There was nothing to say, nothing to do…there was just a hole in Anthony's heart the size of his Mama and the only thing he could think to do was to bring his Mom's bags inside. Thinking maybe if he just moved. Got out of that enclosed space…maybe he would open the front door and find Harley sitting in her wheelchair, grinning up at him. So happy he'd come to visit…always so happy to see him.

He'd have to call his son, he realized. And his w—Karen. Duke should have been there, but it all happened too fast. And at the end Harley needed it to be about them—about she and Pam. And that was…

—Anthony wiped yet another tear from his eye (he was surprised his body had more to give).

That was fine.

He'd always been enamored by his parents' relationship. How they held each other so tenderly…listened…bickered, or just…looked at each other. Always with such admiration. Such…affection.

All he ever wanted was a wife. A wife like they'd had. Someone whose love for him was never called into question. Someone with no second thoughts, no regrets. Someone who…wanted him, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard. He wanted a wife to wear a ring that matched his. Rings that symbolized their belonging to each other—until the end of time. Long after they were dead and buried.

And that was what it looked like, Anthony realized. At the end of it all…what he'd seen today between his parents…that's what it was supposed to look like. You were supposed to choose each other.

…he wished Karen still loved him like that. He wished that their bond had strengthened instead of weakened.

…he wished she'd marry him. Desperately wished they had wedding pictures to display, funny honeymoon stories to share…

But he—

—Anthony wiped his nose on his sweater—

He didn't get to demand that. Wasn't entitled to it. To marriage, to her, to…love.

He was a man, and men break things just because they can. He didn't want to break Karen. He didn't want to break anyone.

So what did he deserve?

Anthony could put anything he wanted back together. Could hold anyone up. Could love with every fiber of his being.

But he would always be a man. And the privilege that came with that was inescapable. He would always be a _white_ man, too. He'd never be able to fully relate to his son. His wisdom was rarely useful, as the world would always look different through Duke's eyes. And no matter how deeply he attempted to empathize, he would never be able to truly comprehend the even more abundant obstacles Karen had to deal with, navigating this world that was built for him—built for Anthony and men that looked like him.

He would always be an outsider, looking in to his family from his pedestal. And no matter how he tried to kick it out from under him, it would remain, nailed to his feet.

On her deathbed, when his Mother had looked at her children, she'd seen a reflection of herself…and a boy.

A _sweet_ boy.

But not something she'd pinned her hopes and dreams on the way she had Jo.

Jolene.

The serial disappointer.

Of course she'd run away. Of course she couldn't handle it. Anthony had spent years defending her and her behavior— _"she just gets overwhelmed, "it's not personal, you know that_ ,"—but when does it pay off? When is the moment its she who steps up for him?

He thought it would be that moment, when he stood, shivering in the hospital hallway, while his parents kissed each other goodbye. But he was alone. Completely alone. Was his sister truly so self-absorbed she didn't think—even for a moment—that maybe he needed her there? Maybe her presence would have been of some comfort? Maybe the idea of spending his Mother's last moments with his arms wrapped around his sister—a woman who would never cease to remind him of their Mother—was what he needed to make everything OK?

Anthony pressed his back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest, his shoulders shaking as he surrendered to another onslaught of tears.

/

Jo's legs swung back and forth where she sat on the balance beam, her eyes out of focus as she gazed down at the mat below.

 _"_ _Mama, look!" Jo planted her arms on the beam, pushing herself up into a handstand, grinning the entire time…until she noticed Harley was distracted by another parent. "Mama! You're not watching! Look at me!" she said, without dropping from her position._

 _"_ _I'm totally watching," Harley called back over. "Point your toes, Baby. Push your legs together."_

 _Jo pouted, but did as she was instructed. "Did I fix it?"_

 _Harley clapped for her, grinning proudly. "You think you can manage a walk-over?"_

 _"_ _Yuh-huh! I sure can! I—," in her excitement, Jo lost her balance, toppling off of the beam and flat on her butt._

Jo glanced over at that spot now—the spot where Harley had been, then. Critiquing. Always with a critique and an encouragement—to find it empty.

She'd always found Harley so…pretty. Been so proud to call Harley her Mama when she stood next to the other parents. There was just something about her. Something people liked. A warmth that seemed natural. You could see it in her smile, see it in her eyes…and Jo knew—she always knew—when those eyes looked at her, that she was loved. That had never come into question. Harley loved her…to a fault, maybe. Just like Harley loved everything.

But she…disappointed her. She disappointed Harley, and she knew it. That fact was just as obvious. Harley's poker face had many tells, and Jo knew them all.

 _"_ _Yeah, that's her," Jo smiled as she stood in line for warmups. "She used to be a gymnast too, ya know? A really good one. Did you see her picture in the trophy case?"_

 _"_ _Did she go to the Olympics?" the girl asked, her eyes wide as she too looked at Harley where she sat, watching them._

 _"_ _No. But she could'a, though," Jo assured her. "I'm gonna go instead, and I'll let her wear my medal so it's like she won it too."_

Jo's Mother had spent their last moment together forgiving her. That's the kind of child Jolene had been. The kind who required forgiveness from her Mother on her deathbed because she'd been such a fuck-up. Such a loathsome disappointment that her Mother was still thinking about things she'd done when she was a teenager 22 years later, as she was about to cross the threshold into the afterlife.

Jo had…she'd wanted to say how much she loved her. How much she meant to her. How life just wouldn't be the same without her. She'd wanted to tell Harley that her grandchildren loved her—and that Jo, herself, still thought she was the sun, and the moon and all the stars in the sky. But she'd missed that chance. And now it was—

"Hey."

Jo jumped at the voice behind her, it echoed through the empty space.

There was a sad smile on Damian's face as he approached her, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder.

"How'd you—," Jo had to clear her throat, as it cracked mid-sentence. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

Damian shrugged, leaning against the beam, his hand resting a few inches from her thigh. "Call it husband's intuition."

"I can't," Jo mumbled, her eyes now staring at the buttons on his shirt. "Because that's not a thing."

Damian breathed out a little laugh, nodding as he took a quick look around. "This was Harleen's gym too?"

"It's ours now," Jo told him distractedly, not quite feeling like any part of her was connected to the Earth. Feeling like she was floating. Feeling numb. "I just bought it. Think I'll name it after her…"

"Mm," Damian hoisted himself up on the beam beside her. "Are you going back to coaching?"

"Maybe," Jo shrugged, before letting a thick silence descend between them. She had felt the shift, maybe a half hour ago. Felt the weight of the loss descending upon her. But she…had to know for sure. "Is it done?"

Damian nodded subtly, his cellphone clutched in his left hand. "Anthony just called me."

Jo rest her head against his shoulder, waiting until he'd wrapped his arm around her to burst into tears.

/

The world looked different from underwater.

It shimmered, shook, stretched and rippled.

…and it was quiet.

Every voice, every sound like it was emanating from the basin of a canyon far away. Nothing was immediate. Nothing was necessary. It was an illusion.

…or so Pamela liked to think.

The water had dropped from hot, to warm, to room temperature some time ago, but she didn't care. Never again would she care about something so trivial. She wondered if she could stay in this bath forever. Absorb the water until she was sick and bloated, and drown, like one of her plants if overwatered.

She'd waited until it was dark outside to leave the car in an attempt to avoid facing an empty house in the daylight. Anthony was asleep on the couch by the time she entered, and she'd headed straight for the stairs, closing her eyes as she passed the photographs that lined the wall of the staircase.

Now the thought of leaving the bath, or slipping into an empty bed with no one snoring lightly beside her, no warm body to wrap her arm around, no sleepy mumblings to smile at…it made her physically ill.

Pam heard the bathroom door creak open, and her first thought was to tell Harley she'd only be another minute. But, of course, it wasn't Harley. Harley was…dead. Although the face now peering down through the water at her did bear a striking resemblance.

The redhead gasped involuntarily as she finally broke the surface, her lungs screaming their appreciation for the new oxygen. She grasped her knees, staring down at them for a long moment, before finally addressing her daughter. "I'm taking a bath."

Jo just nodded silently, unmoving, green eyes still trained on her.

"I'm poison," Pam murmured, pulling her knees closer, curling into a tighter ball. "Leave."

But Jo didn't leave. Instead, she slipped her shoes and her jacket off, kicking them into the corner of the room and approaching the tub, stepping in behind Pam one leg at a time, still wearing her jeans and blouse.

"Jolene, what are you doing?!"

"Calm down," the younger woman's voice sounded tired as she reached around Pam's body, pushing her legs down and wrapping her arms around Pam's rib cage below her breasts to pull her close. "You created me in a lab. Nothing I haven't seen before."

 _Harleen drummed her fingers on the counter for a moment before exhaling and lifting her shirt over her head, slipping her underwear off and stepping into the water._

 _She sat in the back of the tub, not pulling Pam close like she'd hoped she would, but instead dipping her hand into the water and lifting a wet finger to draw designs on the green skin of Pam's back._

Pam shut her eyes tightly, like closing off the world could close her off from her memories. Like if she could just shut out reality, she wouldn't have to continue living it. "Jo, you have to go now."

"No," she murmured against the wet skin of Pam's shoulder.

They were silent for a long moment, Jo's arms tightening around her, holding her fast in the lukewarm water that surrounded them. Pam could feel Jo's head resting on her shoulder now, her lips still pressed to the skin.

"I'm happy you're home," was how Jo broke the silence. "Ma really, really missed you."

Pam's stomach clenched, and she tried to pull free of her daughter's arms, but Jo didn't budge.

"And Damian said all you talked about on the trip was her," Jo continued, her voice muffled, before she adjusted her chin, propping it atop Pam's shoulder. "Said you nearly ran off the ship, armed with your camera, excited to see us all at the welcome home party…to show Ma all your pictures…"

Pam's chest tightened, her eyes slamming shut once more.

"We had a really awesome first four days, though, Mom," Jo murmured, "We walked Tyson…Mom got to walk him herself, in her standing chair. And man, you shoulda seen her smile. She loves that guy," she chuckled, though it was obvious tears weren't far behind. "And I took her to Delilah's soccer game with me…she was the best cheerleader, Mom. Just the best. Lilah scored two goals, and we went and got pizza afterwards, at that place you used to take me after Football? Remember? Ma insisted on it." She sniffed. "It's amazing, isn't it? How many different things someone can be to different people? She was my Mama, she was your wife, she was my kids' Grandma, Barbara's friend, Carrie's doctor…but it all matters. And fuck, she mattered to so many people. But at the end of the day? _You_ were all it came down to. You were her person."

Pam's body began to shake. "56 years, I was with her…" she whispered, raising her knees to her chest once more. "56 years I woke up next to her." She tried to swallow…but she knew there was no stopping this. "I need her. I don't…know how to exist without her, I don't. I need her, Jolene."

Jo nodded silently. "But how many years did you love her?"

"All of them," a tear finally fell down Pam's cheek. "Every single one. 56 years and I…I left! Right at the end, Jolene. I left, and I…I want it back—those days, our life—why did I leave?!"

"Ma told you to go," Jo gently reminded her. "And I promise you she wasn't alone. You have to believe me when I say me and Anthony took care of her."

"But I should have been there!" her tears were falling steadily now. "And she was scared. She told me she was scared." Pam sobbed, rocking forward and backwards in the tub, the water splashing over the sides. "I want to die…I want to die…I want to die…"

"Mom," Jo cried behind her, trying to stop her rocking by tightening her grip. "Mom, you gotta listen to me, alright? Just—please." She forced Pam to slow, before whispering in her ear, "All my life, you have made me feel so safe. I know, wherever I am, that you're watching over me. My guardian angel. And you were there for Ma in the same way. I know you were, and I know—wherever she is now—she's not scared anymore because you're there with her. I don't know how, but—she took a little piece with her. She just had to. You can't love someone as much as Ma did you without taking something. A piece of your heart, it's going with her on her next adventure."

"You don't—know that," Pam heaved, tremors wracking her body.

"Yes, I do, Mom." Jo soothingly carded her fingers through Pam's hair. "I've never been more sure of anything. I promise."


	80. Chapter 80

"I take it she doesn't do much else anymore…" Barbara prompted. "Has she moved at all in the last week?"

Anthony's eyes wandered out through the window, into the garden where Pam knelt, weeding what didn't need weeding, replanting what was already perfectly content. "I'm surprised she even came to the funeral," he murmured, still wearing his dark suit from that very occasion.

"She was quiet there, too," Barbara remarked. "Remind me what happened, again? Why it all went downhill so quickly?"

Jo sighed, dropping her straw from her mouth to answer the question. "The vaccine Mom gave her all those years ago tied Ma's immunity to Poison Ivy's specific toxicity. Overtime, Ma's immune response became sort of…synergistic with Mom's presence. Eventually acting as its own booster shot. So when Mom left her…"

"She took her immunities with her…" Barbara realized.

Anthony nodded gravely. "And because her immune system was so overworked all those years, taking away the booster essentially crippled her entire immune system."

"Christ," Dick massaged his temples. "I trust you haven't told her."

"Fuck no," Jo almost laughed, but it came out fairly nasty in its tone. "What do you take us for? Complete fucking idiots? The city would be leveled in a self-destructive fit of rage by now if we'd told her."

"You're not worried about the…" Barbara nodded at the various plants that surrounded them. "They've been known to gossip, I hear."

"They know what's best for her," Anthony murmured. "They know this would ruin her as much as we do."

Dick cleared his throat, changing the subject as best he could. "I can't believe you actually sang _Wannabe_ , Anthony," he said with a chuckle.

"She was—um—pretty specific," Anthony told him. "Said she'd find a way to haunt me if I failed to sing Spice Girls at her funeral."

"I'm just worried about her," Barbara exhaled, still watching Pam. "She worked so hard to get here…I just…I can't stand the thought of her being lonely."

"It's a bummer she hates animals," Dick remarked. "I've heard they can be helpful in a time of grief."

"Well, she liked cats alright," Anthony said with a now rare smile. "Kept that dark-haired one around for a while."

Barbara and Dick laughed, but Jo's reaction was to suddenly shoot up from her chair, leaving it clattering behind her on the ground. "Wait, I have an idea." She grabbed Anthony's hand, pulling him up from his chair as well. "We'll be right back. You guys babysit."

/

Pam silently dug her trowel into the dirt, turning it over and packing it down again. Just like she'd been doing for the last hour. The wet dirt never failing to fall back into place. The surface once again unmarred, no matter how many times she disturbed it.

 _"_ _Jo, would you knock it off?" Harley scolded. "You're getting sand in the food."_

 _"_ _Good—I'm not hungry." Jo picked up another handful of sand, launching it across the blanket at her brother._

 _"_ _Jolene…" Harley narrowed her eyes, her tone stern. "Do it again and I'll throw you into the ocean."_

 _Jo giggled. "But it's cold, Mama."_

 _"_ _Mhm…" Harley acknowledged slowly, watching as the girl cautiously filled her palm again, eyeing Harley the entire time, even as she, again, threw the sand at Anthony—hitting him in the face this time, dirtying his glasses._

 _"_ _Jolene!" Anthony complained._

 _"_ _That's it," Harley huffed, standing up from the blanket, Pam catching her sandwich as it fell off her lap._

 _Jo was already screaming, running up the sand bank rather than towards the water…but Harley made short work of the space between them, wrapping her arms around the girl's waist and hosting her up over her shoulder._

 _"_ _No! Mama, put me down!" Jo screamed in between fits of hysterical laugher as Harley carried her into the waves._

 _Anthony was cleaning off his glasses, his bottom lip pouting in trademark Quinzel style when Pam's attention flitted back to him._

 _"_ _Did she get any in your eye?" she asked._

 _"_ _No," Anthony grumbled, pushing the glasses back onto his face. "I hope Mama leaves her out there," he said, watching Harley and Jo brace against the crashing waves. "Maybe Aquaman can adopt her."_

They used to try and make it to the beach at least once a month…sometimes Harley would have to take the kids alone, though, because Pam's Wayne Enterprises or S.T.A.R. Labs jobs occasionally kept her on the weekends…

Harley always sent pictures, though. She'd mastered the selfie. Harley's blonde hair falling casually over her shoulders, a wide smile on her face as Jo climbed over her back in that old Powerpuff Girls rash guard…Anthony smirking beside her, sometimes holding Harley's hand...'

In Pam's favorite, Harley had tasked Jo with taking the photo, so it came out a bit blurry, but Harley could be seen planting a kiss on Anthony's cheek while the boy smiled happily, his hair wet from the ocean.

Pam had printed them all, bound them into a photo album, one of many she kept. She was sure someday she'd be able to look at a photo featuring Harley without crying, but not yet. She could barely even look at Harley's clothes in the closet, or her side of the bed, or her shampoo in the shower.

Jo had slept at the foot of their bed that first night, Pam clutching Harley's pillow, breathing in whatever remnants of her scent remained.

She couldn't get out of the car for the funeral that morning. Anthony had been forced to carry her, and she'd stood in the back with Barbara for the entirety of the service, gripping the younger woman's hand…the younger woman that now looked old enough to be her Mother.

Pam had watched as both her children struggled through their speeches, Anthony requiring more than a few pauses to collect himself.

Duke had wrapped him up in a strong hug when he'd returned to his seat, Damian giving him a firm pat on the back.

It was an image Pam imagined Harley would have loved. One that would have probably made her cry irrationally. She'd always been so quick to tears, her heart so easy to access…

Pam raised her head when she heard the gate open, watching her children file into the back yard, Jo closing the gate behind them.

"You don't have anything to plant," Jo pointed out, one hand behind her back.

"I'm weeding," Pam mumbled, despite the fact she obviously wasn't weeding. "I don't need any help," she answered preemptively. Her children and all her grandchildren had suddenly taken a passionate interest in gardening after Harley died. She knew it wasn't genuine. Knew it was just to help her feel less lonely. And she wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse about it.

"That's fine," Jo knelt down in front of her, though Pam still hadn't raised her eyes. "I need your help, though."

Pam blinked, frowning slightly as she finally lifted her head to look. Jo smiled pleasantly, her eyes still puffy from earlier that morning, and brought her hand out from behind her back, setting the yellow flower Pam brought home from the alien planet in front of her. The one with the blue eye.

"My friend here got a little lost," Jo told her. "Me and Tony thought you could find her a new home."

"B—but," Pam didn't understand. "Jo, I left that with Kara in the specimen garden."

"Yeah…" Jo bit her lip, pushing the potted plant towards her across the flattened dirt. "And I convinced Wonder Woman that it was in the flower's best interest to be closer to you. She needs protecting, being that she's entirely unique. Aaaannndddd," she looked up at Anthony with a grin, whose large hands were cupped carefully in front of him. "We found somebody to help you out."

On cue, Anthony knelt down as well, muddying his slacks, but not seeming to care.

Pam watched him curiously as he slowly opened his hands. A small meow escaped through his fingers as a black kitten popped its little head out to get a look at the world. It had big, round green eyes, and yawned, making a barely discernable sighing sound.

"We weren't sure what you'd want to name it, but—,"

"Kitty," Pam whispered, tears having gathered in her eyes. She quickly held out her hands, and Anthony carefully passed her the kitten, smiling as he did. Sniffing, she raised the kitten to eye level, marveling at how still it sat, how it watched her with an apparent intelligence. "You remind me of someone."

Pam smiled softly through her tears when the kitten swiped at her. "You really remind me of someone."

/

Jo's boots slammed down on the metal roof, the thief still a building ahead of her. They'd had a head start, after all. Although Jo suspected 'they' were a girl, and not just because she hadn't run into many male jewel thieves in her time. She knew they had to exist, Hollywood kept making movies about them, so she was sure she'd run into one eventually. But tonight didn't seem like that night.

"Any idea what they stole?"

 _"_ _Well yeah, she left the security cameras on—to show off, I guess_ ," Carrie told her, and Jo could hear the sounds of a keyboard clacking in the background.

"So it is a she?" Jo launched to the next building, landing in a roll and continuing her pursuit. "How do you know?"

 _"_ _Umm…she's wearing really tight leather? And I'm not blind_?"

Jo laughed through her labored breaths, watching as the thief grabbed onto the fire escape of the building in front of them, and began to quickly scale it. "Caroline Whitmore, you dog…"

 _"_ _Hey! I'm allowed to have eyes!"_

Rolling her own, Jo climbed onto the fire escape just as the thief had reached the top, pulling herself up and over the ledge onto the roof. "Damn, this fucker's fast," she lamented.

 _"_ _Sorta reminds me of—,"_

Jo didn't get to hear the rest of her sentence, as she'd just reached the top of the building, and was immediately met with a cinderblock to the face.

The force of the blow knocked her off the fire escape, but a quick grappling gun ensured she didn't fall to her death.

"Remind me to thank Karen for the durability upgrade."

 _"_ _Will do."_

"Now, who the fuck…" Jo threw a batarang at the woman's feet just as she was about to jump to the next building, tripping her up. The thief was able to recover and continue on her way before Jo could make up the ground, but it did provide her a pretty good look at her suit. "What the…? Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me," Jo slowed to a stop, retracting her mask to yell: "Daisy Mae, it is _so_ past your bedtime!"

"You never established one!" Daisy called back over her shoulder as she scaled the next building.

"I established a curfew! They're synonyms, for all intents and purposes!" Jo started at a run towards the edge, launching off and deploying her wings once she was in the air, gliding directly towards Daisy where she was climbing up the ivy that clung to the building.

She landed with her boots only inches from Daisy's sides, but before she could fall alone, her climbing spikes sprung from her wrists, and Jo used them to cut away the ivy serving as Daisy's hand-hold, sending them both plummeting to the ground.

"Mom!" Jo shouted as they fell, and all of a sudden, that same plant came to life, ripping away from the building at the bottom to wrap around them, and carry them safely back down to the roof below them.

"But you—you don't even have plant powers!" Daisy complained as the vines wrapped tighter around her, binding her arms.

"Nah, just an over-bearing Mother," Jo said, dusting her hands off as the vines released her, slithering to tie Daisy's hands behind her back, but not before Jo yanked the bag off her shoulders. "If I were to send Carrie to investigate, would she notice my Mother-in-law's suit is missing from its case?" she asked as she yanked open the bag, reaching inside to find two rather substantial diamond necklaces.

"Fits pretty well, huh?" Daisy squirmed, trying to shake the vines, but falling flat on her butt when Jo kicked her feet out from under her. "Ow."

"That's for the cinderblock," Jo informed her, dropping the necklaces back into the bag and tossing it aside, before sitting down next to her, both their feet dangling off the edge of the building that looked down into the dirty alleyway below. "You want to tell me what you're doing running around, stealing chunk change at 3am?"

Daisy rolled her eyes, refusing to look at her. "I can't believe Grandma sided with you."

Jo sighed, tapping on the vines until they took the hint and uncoiled, giving Daisy the freedom to leave if she wanted to. But the girl sat still, eyes cast downward. "Sucks feeling powerless," Jo murmured.

Again, Daisy didn't answer.

"Umm…" Jo squinted ahead of them, tapping her gloved fingers on the ledge beside her. "15 is sort of a…cursed age in this family. I just—think you should be aware of that."

"What do you mean?" Daisy murmured.

"Well…" Jo took a deep breath. "For Ma, it was the year she slept with her gymnastics coach and got booted from the trials. For me, it was…the last year of my childhood. The year I gave it away, or had it taken from me. You can take your pick, really. More than a few opinions on either side. And for you…" she glanced over at her daughter. "It's the year you lost your last mortal grandparent." When Daisy did nothing but swallow, Jo went on to ask: "Is that what this is about?"

Daisy shrugged, mumbling: "I don't like that my family's getting smaller."

Jo chuckled. "So…Catgirl is the answer, then? She's gonna fix it?"

"Pfft, pretty rich coming from you, _Hellbat_ ," Daisy scoffed. "The glass walls of your house are paper thin."

Unable to help herself, Jo laughed at that too. "OK, I was making a joke. But originality has never been a strong suit in our family, so Catgirl it is, I guess."

"Well, congrats on being—like—so cool and edgy, Mom," Daisy mocked.

With an affectionate sigh, Jo let her gaze wander out of the alley and into the empty street. "I was 18 when I came up with that name." she told her. "Do you want to know why I chose it? Besides being—like—so cool and edgy."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "I got a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

Jo snorted, shaking her head. "The Hellbat was the name of one of your Grandpa's old suits. Far and away the coolest one he ever owned. It gave him the abilities of an elite metahuman, just like his Justice League peers."

Daisy raised an eyebrow, finally glancing over at her. "You serious?"

"Mhm," Jo confirmed with a nod. "But it drained him. Literally, when he put it on, it would begin to slowly suck the life out of him. He eventually had to destroy it, it was so toxic. So…" she leaned back on her elbows, looking over at Daisy now. "I decided that was sort of the perfect metaphor for me. Really pretty—just like that suit. Capable too—the best and worst of my parents, like the suit enabled Bruce to be with the Justice League."

"But?"

"But I drained the life out of people," Jo murmured. "See…I'm not poison; I'm toxic. And no one is immune."

Daisy looked like she was deciding whether or not to frown. "That's…pretty fucking morbid, Mom. And even more messed up you still call yourself that."

Jo shrugged. "I think…sometimes you make choices you just can't come back from. No matter where you end up in your heart, you can't control other people's opinions of you. Can't control how your decisions will affect people. So I say do your best, and forget the rest. Because what's the fuckin' point otherwise."

Daisy squinted. "OK, I gotta level with you here—I'm not totally sure what to do with all that."

"What do you want to do, Daisy?" Jo asked a simpler question. "Is stealing jewelry your life's ambition? The world is your oyster, so what are your goals in life?"

Daisy shrugged. "Fuck bitches, get money?"

Jo blinked in surprise, holding her daughter's gaze for just long enough to know the girl was serious before she burst out laughing and pulled herself up to her feet. "Ignore everything I just said," Jo laughed. "Clearly, you don't need any parental wisdom. Seems like you've got it all figured out."

"Wait," Daisy looked up at her confusedly. "You're not going to scold me or anything?"

"Nah," Jo closed her mask. "There are worse ways to deal with your teen angst, believe me. But here's the deal, alright? This is your last free pass. If I ever catch you again, I'm dropping you off in front of the police station, just like I do with all my other perps. Same goes for your siblings, your Dad, and your cousin. You're fair game, you understand me? So if you're gonna do something—like, you know, _this_ something—make sure you do it well." She changed the channel on her comm. "Hey, Terry? I've got a heist in progress downtown. Assailant is female, wearing all black…"

Daisy was on her feet already, grabbing the backpack off the ground without losing momentum, and jumping onto the dumpster in the alley below, rolling off of it and sprinting away once her boots hit the pavement.

 _"_ _What's that, Mom?"_

"Nothing," Jo watched her disappear around the corner. "As you were."

/

Damian leaned against the glass case, squinting thoughtfully as he sipped his mug of coffee—or his 'priss piss' as Jo liked to call it, seeing as how it was always equal parts cream and actual coffee.

Jo approached him from behind, her suit in hand, having changed into a pair of sweatpants and a baggy Stanford sweatshirt her brother had given her. "You're not going to sleep?"

Damian shook his head, watching her reflection in the glass as he hung up her suit on the other side of the hallway, the one reserved for suits of heroes currently in rotation. "Are you aware your Mother is sleeping on the couch in Harleen's office?"

"It's her first day back at the tower," Jo explained, shutting her case. "Anthony and I are dropping her off at the shuttle site. You want to carpool?"

"Does she want me to?" Damian raised an eyebrow as she walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

"Not sure she cares at this point," Jo murmured, her head resting on his shoulder blade. "What are you doing?"

He once again studied the suit in front of him, his eyes running over the billowing blood stains, the torn fabric at the navel… "I like the blue."

Jo nodded. "Yeah, me too."

Delilah entered the hallway with a sigh, her feet dragging heavily, still wearing her Robin shoes. "Hey," she greeted tiredly, plopping down to pull them off her feet, her green and yellow costume (a slightly different color scheme than the one Terry used) laying across her lap.

Damian's eyes followed her. "Rough night?"

Lilah shrugged, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her compression shirt. "I just miss Nana, is all. And it's weird cuz she's the one I'd talk to about it, ya know?"

Damian knew how hard this loss was hitting her. As hard as the loss of Bruce had hit Terry, like Selina's had affected Daisy…but Delilah was older. She understood the weight of the situation—the truth—better than her siblings had been able to at the time of Bruce and Selina's passing.

"Do you like blue, Delilah?" he prompted.

"Duh," she mumbled, focused on untying her shoes. "It's my favorite color."

Jo let her arms slip away from Damian's torso, crossing them to watch their daughter as well, and raising an eyebrow. "How old are you, again?"

"15," Lilah sighed, getting to her feet and opening her case to file her suit away.

"Mm," Damian nodded thoughtfully. "Did Tiffany tell you she's establishing a new alias?"

"Yeah," the girl acknowledged, keying in the code to shut her case. " _Batwing_ …I don't even know what that means."

Damian turned to Jo then. "So blue? Can you talk to Anthony about it today? I think as soon as he can come in to get her measurements…"

"Wait, wait, wait," Lilah frowned, approaching her parents slowly, squinting one eye. "Whose measurements…?"

"Yours, of course," Damian answered like it was obvious. "Who else is going to fill the Batgirl position?"

Delilah went slack-jawed, looking quickly from her Father to her Mother. "W—no—are you serious?"

Jo shrugged. "His idea. Don't look at me…" Lilah had launched into Damian's arms before she could finish her sentence.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you," she had tears in her eyes as she gripped him tighter. "I won't let you down, I promise! Or Nana. Really, pinky-swear. I'll be the best Batgirl ever—," she caught herself, face going red. "Except for Nana, of course. And you, Mom."

Damian snorted. "Not exactly a high bar…"

Jo looked like she was prepared to be offended. "Because Ma got shot?"

"Oh, no, she was fine," Damian replied quickly. "I meant because you obviously used the position to get into my pants."

"Pfft," Jo scoffed, punching him in the shoulder, shaking her head for Delilah's benefit especially. "That's total bullshit. I was just hanging around, minding my own business, having an identity crisis…and next thing I know, I'm married to this asshole."

Lilah snickered, though she trailed off when her sister entered the hallway…Catwoman suit in hand.

"What the hell have you been doing all night?" Damian questioned as she walked past him, the girl offering only a subtle nod as acknowledgment.

"Women," Daisy answered plainly.

/

Pamela sat quietly in the back seat of the car, her eyes staring blankly ahead, her hand grasping her daughter's where she sat beside her.

"So do you want to go with that same shade?" Anthony was asking, glancing at Jo in the rear-view mirror.

"I think so, yeah," she answered. "Obviously the design has to be updated, congruent with the rest of us, but I think a more classic look on top of the coloring will be a cool homage. She needs to feel connected to her somehow, you know?"

Pam nodded, even though the prompt hadn't been addressed to her.

"If you want that same grey for the body, I'm going to have to purchase more material," Anthony told them. "It'll up the budget."

"That's fine," Damian assured him from the passenger seat. "Can you get the sketches to me by next week?"

"I don't see why not…" Anthony exhaled, making the final turn and arriving at the departure site, pulling to a stop in the seemingly vacant, unassuming parking structure.

Jo squeezed Pam's hand, offering her a smile. "You got your lunch?"

"I won't be hungry," Pam murmured, glancing down at their hands.

"Oh, sure you will," Anthony encouraged from the driver's seat, turning around to give her a reassuring smile. "I got your favorite salad from that spot down on the corner. It's got the mandarin oranges you like."

 _"_ _I got you a salad. The one with the little oranges," Harley pointed to a container on the table. "Dressing on the side."_

 _Pam didn't move from where she stood, just looked from Harleen to the children._

 _"_ _You could…eat it in the greenhouse, if you want." Harley offered, sensing Pam's continued discomfort around her. She watched curiously as Pam nervously squeezed the side of her leg. "Pamela…would you like to hold Jolene?"_

Pam blinked, her eyes traveling slowly up her daughter's arm until she met her eyes. "Will you…walk with me?"

"Oh, sure, no problem," Jo smiled, popping the door open, Anthony and Damian following suit.

Pam stepped out gingerly herself, studying her feet for a moment as she heard the other four doors slam shut. And then Anthony's hand was on her back, guiding her gently towards the elevator in front of them.

"I called Kara," he told her as Jo and Damian followed them into the elevator, Jo pressing the button for the roof. "She said she's really excited to see you. I guess she's been trying to take care of the specimen garden while you were away, but she doesn't quite have your green thumb."

"Get it, Mom?" Jo nudged her, making an attempt at playfulness. "Green thumb? Because your thumb is literally—,"

"Yes, I get it," Pam acknowledged, her lips turning upwards into what could only be called a smile if the viewer were feeling especially generous.

Jo rocked back on her heels and Damian cleared his throat, before saying, "Pamela, I'm wondering if you have any free time this week."

Pam looked over at him, puzzled. "Why?"

"Well…Daisy is—,"

"She's a slut, Mom," Jo finished for him. "Honestly, like, I'm all for sexual freedom, and thank God she's gay so you can love me again. But sometimes that can turn a corner. Get a bit…destructive. The sleeping around thing, not her Lebanese fluency."

"I'm not sure how I'll be able to help with that…" Pam said. "I've only consensually slept with three people in my life, one of which I was married to for 54 years."

"But you're Poison Ivy," Damian reminded her. "I'm sure you could muster some imagination, yeah?"

"I suppose," Pam sighed…though, in truth, she realized she was already looking forward to it. "You can bring her by the house tomorrow."

Frowning, Anthony said: "I don't see why you can't help her out with that, Jo. You had a few experimental years, right?"

Jo shook her head. "I experimented with murdering people, not with sex. Only ever slept with Jason and that guy," she nodded over at Damian.

As much as this conversation should have made Pam uncomfortable, she oddly liked feeling…casual, for a moment. And her children were grown adults. Adults with children of their own. This topic…shouldn't be off-limits. Harley would have certainly participated.

"I think…" Anthony squinted. "8 for me. Well…8 and a half, but I don't want to get into that."

Jo snickered, before looking over her shoulder at Damian. "What about you?"

Damian pursed his lips. "That's personal."

"Oh, come on," Jo prodded, turning to face him fully. "I promise you I don't care."

Rolling his eyes, Damian sighed, "One."

"No," Jo laughed as the elevator dinged. "I mean before me."

"One," Damian repeated, stepping out onto the roof…Jo, Anthony and Pam not following, as they were presently preoccupied with staring at him.

"Dude, what?" it was Anthony who spoke first. "Weren't you like 23 when you guys hooked up?"

"Yes," Damian answered like that was a stupid question. "I don't see what the problem is."

 _"_ _Damian Wayne is officially off the market," Pam read aloud._

 _Harley laughed. "I mean—I guess that's newsworthy…pretty sure that fucker's still a virgin." She looked over at Pam (who had yet to laugh at her joke) and found any traces of a smile had melted off of her face. "Who is it?" Harley prompted._

Pam actually laughed out loud then, and the sound surprised everyone. Even her. She hadn't laughed in three months. Honestly hadn't thought she'd ever laugh again. But that…Harley had called it! How could she not laugh at that? It was hilarious.

Jolene, for her part, didn't seem to find it funny at all. She just stood there, blinking, like she was attempting to somehow find her bearings. "I just…I thought you were…excited because it was—it was me."

"Yes, excited it was you," Anthony was laughing now too. "An anatomically correct, mostly human woman. Congratulations, Jo, you matched all the criteria."

"Oh, fuck you," Jo and Damian said in unison.

Ignoring them, Anthony nodded, encouraging Pam forward, and she stepped out into the early morning sunlight, breathing in the fresh air that you can only really get in Gotham at this elevation.

The Watchtower shuttle utilized the same technology as Wonder Woman's invisible jet, meaning that, although they couldn't see it, Pam knew it was already there waiting for them. It would appear once they got close enough and it verified she and Damian's identities.

Anthony handed her the canvas bag he'd packed her lunch in. "There's some orange juice in there too. With pulp," he added. "Freshly squeezed, of course."

Jo leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Have a good day, alright? I'll be back to pick you guys up tonight. 6 o'clock."

Pam nodded, gripping the bag in her hand and glancing from Jo to Anthony. "OK."

Damian was attempting to give Jo a kiss now, but she made a pointed evasive maneuver, ducking out of the way, and saying "Nuh-uh, you have to kiss at least one other person before you can kiss me again."

So Damian did. He suddenly grabbed Anthony by the wrist and pulled him into a kiss that Pam could only describe as overzealous. He pushed Anthony away when he'd had his fill, turning to Jo with an eyebrow raised. "Happy?"

"Um—no!" Jo lamented. "Nice going, now I gotta start shipping you guys."

Pointedly wiping his mouth, Anthony moved on. "You got this," he assured Pam, squeezing her wrist. "You know there was nothing Ma was prouder of than the fact you worked for the Justice League. She'd want you to get back in the swing of things."

With an unexpected smile on her lips, Pam looked between her children, even stole a glance at Damian as he begrudgingly settled for Jo's cheek and started towards the shuttle. "I love you," Pam murmured.

Anthony smiled, pulling her in for a hug. "We love you too, Mom."


	81. Chapter 81

Jolene accompanied Pamela to Lena Luthor's funeral, Anthony to Lois Lane's. Pam held Barbara's hand through Dick's, and Barbara…well, she passed away in her sleep two years after that. Just didn't wake up one morning.

Pam sat between her children at that funeral, Damian beside them, gripping Cass' hand, offering her the support that she couldn't ask for, but desperately needed in that moment, as she mourned the loss of her final adopted parent.

There was a lot Pam wished she could have said to Barbara. Mainly that she loved her, and that she was honored to have been part of her life. Honored to have known her. But there was no use talking to a corpse. She'd learned from Harley's death that no matter how you begged and pleaded, the cold body you clutched to your chest would remain cold. Empty.

Barbara's soul had already moved on, Pamela knew that, but it didn't stop her from leaning over the open casket and pressing a kiss to the woman's forehead, murmuring "Carrot tops are green," against her skin.

Pamela remembered going to a drive-in movie theater as a teenager. Just once. The boy had asked nicely, and his parents were important clients to her Father…so she'd gone, worn his sweater around her shoulders because he'd offered it, not because she was cold.

The movie had been about a group of kids roughly Pam's age at the time—although she reckoned the actors playing them were quite a few years older. It was set in California, and was considered fairly risqué for the time, being that the swimsuits the women wore were rather revealing. They lounged on the beach while the boys in their posse went out to surf. Of course, Pamela found the images of the women laying on the beach in revealing swimwear considerably more entrancing than the other plot line, but there was one scene she'd always remember. It depicted one of the boys—the shortest one with the darkest hair—falling off his surfboard into the water, and each time he'd break the surface, gasping for air, another punishing wave would thrust him back under water. There was nothing the boy could do but let the waves crash on top of him, and hope he'd eventually end up back on shore.

That's what Pamela had felt like nearly every year since Harleen's death. Like there was a punishing surf at her back, beating her into the ocean floor with wave after wave of tragedy.

She had Clark and Kara, though. She felt almost silly saying it, but their friendship meant more than she could articulate with words.

They met at least three times a week in one of The Watchtower's smaller conference room. Some of their colleagues referred to their gatherings as "Grief Group," which bothered Pamela at the beginning, until she realized that's exactly what it was. A place to mourn the immense losses of their lives with the only people that could ever hope to understand.

Ivy sighed as she lowered herself into her seat. "Is it lesbian pride day on Krypton or something?"

Clark and Kara looked equally confused by her jab.

"There's just…a lot of plaid in this room right now," Pam explained, nodding towards the Kryptonians' nearly matching shirts, tucked into almost equally identical pairs of darkly washed jeans.

"Oh, I'm just from Kansas," Clark told her like maybe she was truly confused. "I'm not a lesbian."

"Sure you are," Ivy doubled down. "Reported the news every night on MSNBC, right?"

Clark narrowed his eyes at her. "That's Rachel Maddow, and I think you know that."

Ivy shrugged, sighing again as her gaze shifted to Kara, the younger woman's gaze empty as she stared down into her own lap. "How are you doing, Kara?"

"I'm just tired of being lonely," the blonde murmured, tears somehow already gathering in her eyes. "It's been 9 years but I still can't…breathe at night, without her. And everyone—they, like—they think it should all be OK by now, but how can it all be OK? She's still gone. I'm still…I'm still alone, the house is still empty, and now it…it doesn't even smell like her anymore. It _feels_ like she's gone now. Really. And that hurts worse than the lingering. Because at least I still felt attached, you know? I'm sorry," she apologized, shutting her eyes. "Didn't mean to just launch in—sometimes I feel like I just blabber on and on to you guys. But it's…there are ways I'm getting better, and ways I somehow feel like I'm getting worse. And I don't want to get worse. I want life to have meaning again, want it to have color…it's just—man—what a terrible process."

Clark nodded. "19 years, and sometimes Jon's the only way I can even get out of bed in the morning," he admitted. "I look at him, and…there's just enough of her in there—in his eyes…and I think about how much she loved him, and—Pam, you must know what I'm talking about—that life I was allowed to share, and help create…and it's all OK for a second. But then you remember, and those same eyes make you just as sad as they did happy."

Pam nodded mutely, looking down at the wedding and engagement rings she still wore, running the pad of her index finger gently over the emerald encrusted bands… "I don't know when it's supposed to change, Kara. 21 years for me, and yes, the pain does feel…duller. But then again, the whole world feels duller. I'm every bit as empty as my house, every bit as empty as my bed…but you're right, Clark—it is my children, human or otherwise, that convince me to start my next day."

"Yeah, well," Kara wiped her eyes. "Guess I should'a had kids, then."

Clark reached out and squeezed her hand. "You'll always have me, Kara. I am your family, you know that."

Kara nodded, painting on a watered down smile. "I know. I'm just—ugh," she took a deep breath. "It's been good to be working again. Helpful. Lena always believed in my reporting. It made her sad when I had to quit and change my name. So it feels like, in a way, I'm doing this for her too. Her and me."

"I've found distraction to be vital," Pam agreed. "And you have a friend in me as well, Kara. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Kara smiled sweetly—so did Clark, actually. "And you're a good friend, Pamela. Oh!" she suddenly straightened up, obviously having been reminded of something. "I meant to tell you, I'll be in Gotham tomorrow, interviewing your daughter for the trials thing. She seems very excited."

"She hasn't shut up about it for two years," Pam smiled with genuine amusement. She would never grow tired of Kara's exuberance. There was something so familiar about it…and it had been gone for some time, despite the woman's attempts at faking it. But little by little, day by day, group by group, she'd seen mirth slowly creep back into those bright blue eyes. She was still healing—or trying to, at least—but the passion with which she discussed her stories reassured Pamela that Kara would be OK eventually. That she was on the road to being OK now. "I'm relieved it's finally happening; the topic is honestly growing tiresome."

"She really loves it, huh?" Kara grinned.

"Gymnastics? Oh, yes," Pam laughed. "Besides her children and her husband, I can't imagine she loves anything more…although," Pam narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "She might honestly prefer gymnastics to Damian—I suppose we'll never know. I'm just aware I've misjudged her affection for the sport before."

Kara chuckled as Clark checked his watch, saying "I should get going," and grabbing his blazer off the back of his chair as he stood up.

They didn't always have hours to spare, sometimes they had only minutes. But some days a minute was all they needed.

"See you tomorrow, Cus," Kara waved after him, Pam following suit, though without the verbal goodbye. When he was gone, Kara turned back to Pam. "Anyway, can I call you afterwards? Maybe we can get dinner or something? You know I'm always hungry."

"Oh, yes, sure," Pam rose from her chair as well. "Just—umm—yeah," she smiled. "Call me."

/

"The number one goal is, of course, that everything runs smoothly," Jo was saying, continuing her tour of the facility. "Of course, that's easier said than done, but at this point, we're feeling confident."

Kara was struggling to keep up, pushing her glasses back up her nose, hurrying her steps. "Did you—um—have you—I'm sorry," she apologized, grabbing Jo's arm to slow her down. "You're obviously a lot better at maneuvering in heels than me. And has anyone ever told you that you talk a little fast?"

Jo laughed. "Off the record, I thought you, of all people, would be able to keep up. And on the record, I will continue to make high heels my bitch until the day I die. Any more questions?"

"Just a few," Kara flipped through her reporter pad, aware that it was outdated, but craving the familiarity. "I'm a little rusty, I'm sorry."

"That's alright…" Jo smiled, absently trailing her fingers across the balance beam they'd paused in front of.

"Um—why was it so important to you that the trials come to Gotham?" Kara asked, not yet looking up from her notebook. "I heard the bidding got expensive."

Jo's eyes flitted to her fingers, tapping them rhythmically on the beam's beige surface. "I think…the negative reputation Gotham earned continues to be this…pervasive, overpowering, falsified reality of what the city truly is. It's not even in the top 3 most crime-ridden cities in American anymore. It's safer than ever, and I…I want people to get to know the Gotham that I've experienced. This is where I grew up. My Mother was born here, and the Waynes were one of Gotham's first families. You've gotta give things a second chance," her plea was earnest. "And this city has made significant strides in the last few decades. With help from the Bat-Family and the Justice League, of course. I want America to tune in and see that. I want young gymnasts out there to know that this city, and the Harleen Quinzel Memorial gym, have a lot to offer. We're just—," Jo laughed. "We're tired of being known as Metropolis' ugly step sister. Or…drunk uncle, more accurately."

Kara chuckled as she copied that last part down. "This must be so interesting for you, as someone who so famously didn't go on to actually comp—,"

"Oh, no one cares about that," Jo cut her off, dismissing the question. "In gymnastics, the best of the best don't make it much older than 22. It's an early retirement for even the most decorated competitors, and I'm a 61-year-old woman without a medal to my name. I'm a fan. That's it. Gymnastics…it'll always be my first love, and getting to host the trials, see these girls' dreams come true right before my eyes, in my city…it's truly the honor of my life—and I'm a mother to three children," she joked.

"Well…I guess that's it then," Kara smiled, marking her paper with an overzealous period, and closing up the notebook. "I really appreciate you showing me around."

"Course," Jo grinned, making a sweeping arm gesture at the facilities and taking a deep breath. "Like I said, this is all such an honor…that I paid a lot of money for, but at the end of the day—who gives a shit? I have to spend my money somewhere. Are you headed back to National City tonight?" she changed the subject. "Or did you get a hotel."

"Oh, well I'm actually going to meet your Mom for dinner at the…umm…" she got her cellphone out, scrolling quickly through her texts. "The Iceberg Lounge."

Jo raised an eyebrow. "Mom's taking you to dinner at The Iceberg?

Kara didn't exactly know how to respond. She found Jo's delivery strange. "Is it—is that weird?"

"Well…no," Jo laughed. "Actually, I think 'fuckin' finally' is a better reaction. Are you wearing that?"

The blonde glanced down at her sweater vest and khakis. "Yes? Is that…I mean, is this OK? Is there a dress code or something?"

"Umm…" Jo squinted, looking her up and down. "You know what? I think you're fine." She decided, reaching out to dust Kara's shoulder off. "It's cute, and it's—God—it's so on-brand," she laughed.

/

Pam checked her watch again. 8:06. She'd said 8 o'clock.

 _But it's a strange city for her_ , Pam reminded herself. _Maybe she got lost. Or maybe she just…isn't all that interested in punctuality. Anyway, what does it matter?_

Honestly, Pamela had no idea why she felt so nervous. Or why she'd spent so long deciding on her dress. She knew she looked good in anything, and she'd already thoroughly impressed Kara. They'd been friends a long time. It wasn't as if this was their first meeting, or even their first time hanging out together outside the tower.

"Hanging out," Pam mocked herself. It sounded so…high school.

She was taking a sip of her sparkling water at the bar when the front door opened, and Kara stepped in, fiddling nervously with her glasses.

Pam smiled instantly at that. She'd always found the movement so endlessly endearing.

 _"_ _You don't actually need those, do you?" Ivy asked rhetorically, her eyes still closed._

 _Harley sat upright, alarmed at the sudden disturbance and a bit embarrassed for how intently she'd been staring._

 _"_ _Your glasses." Ivy clarified when she didn't respond. "They're not prescription, are they?"_

Pam stared down into her glass, aware that Kara had spotted her and was quickly making her way over.

"Hi!" the blonde greeted, sounding slightly out of breath. "I'm so sorry I'm late I—well, there was a donut cart on the corner, and see, I didn't even know donut carts were a thing."

"It's OK," Pam assured her, holding in a laugh. "Really, I understand. My children have similar metabolisms; we were always stopping off at odd places because they were hungry."

Kara looked visibly relieved. "Thank you…" she trailed off slightly as she took her first real look at Pam, her eyes going wide with embarrassment. "Oh no, you dressed up. Jolene said this might—I'm so underdressed." She buried her face in her hands.

"No! no, it's…" Pam looked down at herself, studying how her own green dress clung tightly to her waist and hips… "Perhaps I'm overdressed. I don't go out with friends all that often anymore. The one who used to take me here died some time ago, and the cat my daughter bought to fill that void within me is much too old to take me to dinner anymore."

Kara peaked out from behind her fingers with a laugh. "I didn't know you had a cat."

"I do," Pam smiled. "She's 21 years old and categorically refuses to die. We rarely get along, but I suppose that's the point."

The blonde didn't answer immediately, just smiled at her, but when she did, she said: "So do you—um—want to sit down?"

"Of course, yes, sorry, you're hungry," now Pamela was the one embarrassed. "I had a table res…" she trailed off as she looked over her shoulder. "Damn it," she snapped her head back around.

"What?" Kara frowned, her eyes wandering in the direction Pam's had just abandoned. "Hey, isn't that your granddaughter?"

"I didn't think she'd be here tonight," Pam lamented, gulping down the rest of her water.

Kara looked confused. "Don't you…like your granddaughter?"

"Of course I do," Pam assured her. "I just don't particularly like watching her—,"

"She's coming over! She's coming over," Kara interrupted in an excited whisper.

And Pam felt a hand lightly trail around her waist soon after. "You know," Daisy began. "I've s—fuck. Hey, Grandma," she took a noticeably different tone mid-sentence, her face bright red when Pam whipped around to look at her.

"Were you about to hit on me?" Pam asked, appalled.

Daisy wrinkled her nose, looking like the question pained her. "I really wish my answer could be no."

Pam pulled a nearly identical expression, suddenly very uncomfortable in her tight dress.

"Umm…if it's any consolation," Daisy attempted to cut the tension. "You can't hate me more than I hate myself right now."

"I believe you," Pam granted. "But I also already see a rather lovely young woman sitting at the table you abandoned."

"Yeah, well," Daisy signaled the bartender. "I liked this view better, and now I would very much like to die." He gave her a drink without even taking her order, and she gave him a cordial nod as thanks, downing it in one go. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, um, Kara," Kara smiled sheepishly as she introduced herself, extending a hand.

"Kara," Daisy smiled, bringing the hand to her lips. "I'm really loving this pencil-pusher look. What do you—,"

"Daisy, stop it," Pam snapped. "There are plenty of other options in here."

The younger woman looked puzzled for a moment, glancing between them, before realization seemed to dawn. "Oh! Right, well…my sincerest apologies, Kara. Can I get you anything? Whatever you want, it's on me. I happen to know the owner," she gave a playful wink.

"She is the owner," Pam explained the joke to Kara.

"Ah, that's—that's very kind, Ms. Wayne," Kara flushed slightly, turning to the bartender herself now, asking for a club soda.

Daisy took the opportunity to give Pam two thumbs up, mouthing, "she's cute, I love the…" and pantomiming Kara adjusting her glasses.

Pam hurriedly waved her off.

Kara was smiling when she turned back around with her drink. "So, how long have you owned this place?"

"5 years now," Daisy told her with a proud smile. "Had to wait until I had the funds to purchase it on my own. The trust fund baby narrative isn't exactly flattering."

"Well it's really, I mean, just so beautiful," Kara let her eyes sweep her surroundings. "Really lovely."

"Mhm…" Daisy smiled, though it was clear her attentions had wandered. "Alright, weigh in here for me," she tugged on Pam's dress, encouraging her to follow her gaze. "Blonde or brunette?"

"Blonde," Pam answered immediately, at the same time as Kara was saying: "Brunette."

Daisy laughed as they looked at each other oddly. "It was a trick question anyway. I want the strawberry blonde in the corner," she nodded in that direction.

Kara frowned behind her glasses as she studied the woman Daisy was referring to. "Doesn't she look a little like…"

"Daisy, that woman looks exactly like your Mother," Pam was more blunt.

"No, no, the blue dress. Right there. Talking to the fuck boi," Daisy attempted to clarify.

"Sweetheart," Pam laughed. "If you put that woman in a leotard I'd tell you it was my daughter."

"Wh—no," Daisy adamantly shook her head. "Nice try, Grandma, if you think you're gonna scare me straight—,"

Pam chuckled, opening up her clutch. "I'll tell you what…" she retrieved a $100 bill, and slid it across the bar until it brushed Daisy's hand. "I'm willing to bet that woman is a collegiate athlete." She gave the girl in question a more thorough look over. "She's…in her 3rd year at Gotham State. Runs track. The…400m, to be specific," Pam decided. "And, actually, let's up the stakes." She pulled another $100 out of her clutch. "Double or nothing, she's a psychology major."

Daisy scoffed. "Mom didn't even go to college."

"Incorrect," Pam leaned against the bar. "She went to community college for three years, just never graduated. You want to guess what her major was?"

"Ooh!" Kara piped up. She knew this one. "Child psychology."

Pam smiled condescendingly at her granddaughter. "Go ahead," she nodded towards the doppelganger. "Tell me if she's anything different."

Daisy rolled her eyes, running a quick hand through her hair. "Fine. Hate taking money from an old lady, but it's your funeral."

"Good luck," Pam smiled after her, she and Kara watching intently as she Daisy left them, crossing the floor and moving quickly to draw the woman's attention away from the man she was talking to. "Anyway," Pam exhaled, returning her attention to Kara. "Apologies, I realize this might not be the right place for your unique dietary requirements."

"Oh," Kara looked a little disappointed. "Well, I liked meeting Daisy. We get to work with Lilah and Terry every day, but for some reason I always forget there's a third."

"I think she might prefer it that way," Pam told her. "But, if you'd like, you could watch the trials with us tomorrow? You'll get to see all three of them in one place."

Kara's face lit up. "I'd love to! I mean—um," she cleared her throat, obviously trying to tamp down her enthusiasm. "Yeah, definitely. Yes."

Pam was about to smile and tell Kara they'd say goodbye to Daisy and go find some place that served something other than glorified, overpriced appetizers…but she was derailed by the image of Daisy leading the doppelganger towards the door with her arm around her waist.

She did stop off at the bar before leaving, though, reaching into her pocket for five $100 bills, folding them neatly and depositing them into Pam's hand.

"There's $300 extra to ensure this stays between us," Daisy muttered quickly, leaving before Pam could respond, ushering the woman out the door.

Pam glanced down at the money in her hand. "I feel like we should burn this."

Kara laughed out loud, finishing with a little snort.

/

Kara liked the way Pamela's eyes lit up when she talked about things she loved.

Her favorites were the stories about Harley and the kids. It felt like she was letting Kara into this secret little world, locked away in her heart…her secret garden! Like the book!

And, for the record, Jolene was right—Gotham was different than Kara remembered. The air felt lighter somehow, a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves of the trees that were spaced evenly on each sidewalk. Window boxes filled with colorful flowers spilled from the second stories of each building they passed. And it smelled…fresh. Clean. Different than before.

"Did you do all this?" Kara asked, her fingers trailing over the rough bark of one of the trees.

Pam smiled, glancing up at the tree beneath Kara's touch. "It's taken almost 80 years to arrive here," she admitted. "Since the day Harley dragged me out of that cell and into the sunlight, I've been working. There's always room to improve, but…" she watched as a car passed overhead. "It gets easier to breathe with each passing day. Easier for my babies to survive…Gotham is finally a city I'm proud to call home."

"That must be incredibly rewarding, to have your work mean something," Kara said, glancing over at the redhead as they continued their walk back to Kara's hotel.

"You say that as if your work is meaningless," Pam remarked.

Kara shrugged. "I do my best. But I'm not literally helping keep the heart of the planet pumping."

"We all have our different strengths," Pam reminded her, slowing to a stop in front of a bubbling marble fountain. "You're a role model, to every young girl I've ever met. And it's not as if you've been unhelpful with my conservation project," she pulled a few coins out of her pocket, handing one of them to Kara. "I know, after what happened with Krypton, there are few causes more important to you than keeping this planet alive and well."

Kara nodded. It was true. She'd seen her entire planet die, all because her people failed to take care. Their leadership failed to heed the warnings of the planet's top scientists…it still hurt. That feeling of overwhelming helplessness. Pamela knew that feeling too. Her people—human or otherwise—died every day, and she couldn't be numb to any of it.

"What would you wish for?" Kara nodded at the coin in Pam's hand. "If you threw that knowing your wish would come true. What would you wish for?"

Pam turned the coin over in her hand, staring thoughtfully down at it, before her eyes became glassy. "There was a Christmas once, a long time ago," Pam began. "Almost 60 years ago now. The kids were young, but old enough that I felt like I knew them," she pursed her lips, pausing for a moment. "And Harley…she loved Christmas so much. She was Jewish, but she loved Christmas more than all of us." The faint smile Pam was wearing melted away after that thought. "I asked her if she'd stay with me that night. The kids were sleeping, and she pulled me to my feet to dance, and I…I can still feel that, in my heart, that fullness, that security in her arms as we swayed to the music…" Pam pressed down on the coin with her thumb. "And I told her it could be like this forever. Told her I could make her like me. That I could keep her, if she'd let me."

Kara was sure she knew how this story ended, but her stomach clenched with grief none the less. There was still so much love in Pamela's voice when she spoke about her wife. So much affection…

"And…she said no," Pam finished. "She said she was mine as long as she was here, but that she couldn't stay forever."

"So, what's your wish?" Kara asked, her voice small. She wondered if Harleen knew how much Pam missed her. Wherever she was…

Wetting her lips, Pamela said, "I suppose I wish she'd had a different answer. But if not, I'd ask to live one more moment in that night. With my children asleep on the couch behind me, and my head resting on my wife's shoulder. Just…to feel her chest against mine, her arms around my back…Just one more moment of warmth. That's what I'd wish for."

Kara's eyes had welled up with tears, but she smiled at Pamela none the less…softly, sweetly… "I'd wish for that too."

Pam chuckled, though it sounded a bit nervous. "You'd spend your wish on me?"

Kara nodded. "Lena wouldn't want me to go back, she was all about moving forward. And I think…seeing her again, it would hurt too much. I'm not brave enough to rip those scabs off. You remind me of her, though," Kara said, the words slipping out before she could think better of them.

Pam turned to her, raising a curious eyebrow. "I remind you of Lena?"

Again, Kara nodded silently.

"Why?" Pam smiled, almost despite herself, it seemed.

"Well…" Kara shoved her hands deep into her pockets, looking down at the water rather than attempting to hold Pam's gaze. Her eyes were very green. Greener than Lena's, even, and Lena's eyes had been very green. "You're smart," she began. "The kind of smart that's intimidating sometimes. Fierce. And you're…very pretty—beautiful," she quickly corrected. "The kind of beautiful that shakes you, right to your very core." Kara's gaze finally flitted back to meet her, and she found that Pam was still watching her. "The kind of beautiful that makes it hard to even look at you, but…even harder to look away."

Pamela blushed—yes, Poison Ivy actually blushed. Turns out she could do that when her skin wasn't green. She bit her lip to contain a smile, and shyly tucked a strand of loose red hair behind her ear, eyes on her feet when she said, "I hope the potstickers were to your liking."

Kara grinned. "Any chance that place delivers to National City?"

Pam chuckled, braving another moment of eye contact. "I think just about anything's possible for Supergirl." They waited for a moment in a comfortable silence, the sound of the bubbling fountain punctuating the night, before Pamela spoke again. "I'll pick you up tomorrow."

Blinking, as if awoken from a trance, Kara realized she was a bit disappointed that the night had to end. It'd been so wonderful, getting to spend time with someone. Someone that had successfully distracted her from her loneliness. Someone that, somehow, had always been able to. "I thought you were walking me to my hotel?"

The redhead nodded up at the building behind the fountain. "And so I have."

"Oh," Kara flushed with embarrassment. "Right…Duh. I—I had a really wonderful night."

Pam smiled, her eyes sparkling, hair shining in the glow of the streetlamp. "Yeah, me too."


	82. Chapter 82

Kara tightened her ponytail as Pam led her through the hallway in search of their seats.

Kara didn't much care for stadiums. They were always very loud—aggressive and overwhelming, not exactly something people with super hearing look forward to. She much preferred watching outdoor sports, just because she liked feeling the sun on her face and getting to sit on the grass.

 _But the Quinzels are a gymnastics family_ , Kara nodded resolutely. Gymnastics and…basketball? Hadn't Duke played basketball? Kara thought she remembered Pam saying something about Duke playing basketball. She'd ask her later. Or maybe she'd ask Duke! Would she see Duke?

Pamela seemed just as nervous about the venue, but also happy to see her family all in one place. So Kara decided she would be happy about that too. That's what she kept reminding herself as they entered the arena at nearly ground level (because of course that's where Jo would sit, she wanted to be close to the action). Pam said Anthony had even flown in from San Francisco! Though, as Kara scanned the section Jo had blocked out for them, it seemed Karen had stayed behind.

Jolene paused her seemingly heated conversation with… _wait, why was she here, again? Oh!_ With Terry's wife to wave Pam and Kara over, and when Pam looked back at Kara to make sure she was following, the blonde couldn't help but smile excitedly. She liked Jolene. Liked her a whole lot. She was smart, and funny, and obviously very important, and yeah she cussed a lot, but adults were allowed to cuss. Kara just…chose not to. And it sounded cooler when Jolene did it, anyway.

"So happy you could make it, Kara," Jo smiled up at her after they'd scaled the short flight of stairs and arrived at their seats.

Kara grinned at Jo and gave a nervous little wave to Damian who sat beside her, a little boy with hair just as black as Terry's on his lap. "Who's the little one?" Kara wondered. She suddenly yearned for her reporter pad. She didn't want to forget anything. Any name or relation.

The boy looked up from the cup he was holding, absently swirling his hand over the top, his blue eyes nearly glowing as he regarded her. "I'm Garth. And I'm not little, I'm 6."

"Oh, of course," Kara apologized profusely, nodding ardently at the boy. "I can see now that you're very big."

Garth seemed to appreciate the correction, though he didn't respond again, his attention instead falling back to the water in his cup.

"Terry's son," Pam explained in a whisper, before nodding down at the little redheaded girl playing patty-cake with an older woman—about Anthony's age, if Kara had to guess—two rows down. "And that's his daughter, Tula."

 _Oh! Of course._ It only took one look for it to make sense. Kara's smile broadened as she watched the girl. "They're so cute…"

"Shhh," Terry scolded, reaching around Damian's shoulders from behind to quickly cover Garth's ears. "Quinzel-Isley parenting rule number one, Kara! The narcissism comes naturally."

Delilah's snicker assured Kara it was a joke (which she was relieved at), but Pam raised an eyebrow. "Was that aimed at me or your Mother?"

"Blanket statement," Terry assured her. "I'm not exempt."

Pam narrowed her eyes at him, deciding whether or not he should get away with it. "Fine," she eventually decided. "But you're on thin ice."

Terry grinned, ruffling Garth's hair before retracting his hands, Damian shrugging his shoulders to speed up the process, as he clearly hadn't been a fan of the position.

Kara liked that Pam got to work with two of her grandkids on a daily basis. She remembered how sad she and Harleen had looked when Jo turned down the Justice League position. Pam was probably still a little sad about that (Pam seemed to be sad about a lot of things), but working with Jo's kids had to be some consolation. Kara certainly enjoyed it.

Pam let Kara sit beside Jo, while she took the seat next to her, the one directly in front of Delilah.

"I just don't see why we can't be friends, Jo," Mareena picked up the conversation they'd evidently put on hold to say their hellos.

Jo whipped around in her seat to face her once more, and Kara flinched at the sudden change in tone. "We _were_ friends, Mareena. We were good friends." She lowered her volume to a harsh whisper. "But now you're sleeping with my son, and that's a little weird for me."

Mareena rolled her eyes. "I'm not _sleeping_ with your son, Jolene, I'm married to him. We have two children together. What do you want me to do?" she sounded legitimately distressed. "Atlanteens age at a much slower rate, I'm just doing what feels natural."

Jo looked like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What feels natural is you f…" she waited until Damian had covered Garth's ears. "Fucking the child of a colleague you met 6 years before he was even born? Christ, Mareena, you came to the fucking baby shower!"

Terry exhaled aggressively. "Why do you have to make everything gross, Mom?"

"M—me make everything gross?" Jo was appalled. "You're—that is—are you—no. You know what? No." she turned back around to face the floor.

Mareena was chewing her lip. "Is that a no on the coffee date, then?"

Jo pointedly ignored her, and Terry rolled his eyes. "You're being really immature, Mom."

"Oh, go fuck a dolphin, Terrance," Jo dismissed him, and only then did Damian lift his hands away from Garth's ears.

Pam appeared apologetic when she looked at Kara, but the blonde wasn't much paying attention to her in that moment. Her mind was reeling. Before Pam could speak, Kara whispered: "I totally forgot why that was weird. How did I forget how weird that was?"

The redhead held in a laugh, which genuinely surprised Kara.

"You don't think it's weird?"

"No, I definitely do," Pam assured her in a whisper. "But Jo's so thoroughly disgusted by it, I can't help but get a little enjoyment out of the situation."

Jo leaned over in front of Kara, joining their conversation. "I like to whisper too. I'm not deaf. And you two couldn't look more like superheroes trying to disguise themselves if you tried."

Kara sheepishly adjusted her glasses while Pam did the same (though with less embarrassment), looking down at the blouse she'd tucked into a pair of jeans, and then over at Kara whose Oxford shirt was worn in much the same fashion.

"I should have worn a skirt," Pam realized.

"The pants aren't the problem, Mom."

"It's the glasses, isn't it."

"It's the glasses," Jo confirmed, pulling back to accept the soda a blonde woman, about Jo's same age, was offering her. "What do you think, Court? Johnson, Williams, James and…Park?"

'Court' shook her head (Court was probably short for Courtney), sitting down in front of her. "I like Stepanov, she'll go before Park."

Jo laughed. "They're not taking two bar specialists, Hon."

The blonde postured a bit. "Well, speaking as a bar specialist—,"

"Ah, biased," Anthony interjected as he arrived, leaning down to give Pam a hug. "Hey, Mom," he turned his face to kiss her on the cheek.

Pam didn't let him separate for another few moments, her grip tight around his back. "8 months was too long," she murmured, and Kara smiled down into her lap at the utterance. _She's a good mom_.

"You're telling me," Anthony smiled against her cheek. "But you know what," he finally pulled back. "You can visit me too, you know. You do possess the ability to leave Gotham City for reasons besides Justice League business."

Pam ran an affectionate hand through his gray hair. "I know…"

"And Kara," Anthony looked surprised—but pleasantly so. "I didn't know you were a gymnastics fan. You came all the way out here for this?"

"Well, I—um, I had an interview," Kara explained herself, catching maybe a bit of insinuation in his tone? Though Kara didn't totally know what he was getting at.

"She was interviewing me," Jo saved her, though, again, Kara wasn't totally sure why she needed saving. "Believe it or not, some people actually care what I have to say."

"Mmm…" Anthony squinted thoughtfully. "Sounds fake."

"Is Duke coming?" Pam asked, before Jo could respond.

Anthony turned to look at the stairway, smiling as Duke and his family ascended it. "Kara, you remember my son, Duke, and his wife, Tiffany," he re-introduced them. "And this is their daughter, Max."

Max was about 10, by the looks of it, and very cute. Just like every other person in this family. It was actually a bit strange, Kara realized, the sheer level of attractiveness that surrounded her. She supposed that's what you get when you start a family with Poison Ivy. And Harleen had been really pretty too, if memory served.

"Are you a superhero?" Max asked her right off the bat.

Kara choked on air as the question pulled her out of her thoughts. She liked kids—loved them, actually, but didn't think she'd ever told one her secret. _Does Pam want me to answer?_

"It's the glasses, Kara," Jo reiterated, breaking the tension.

"Is it really?" _When did eyeglasses become a tell?!_

Max nodded at her. "It's OK, though, both my parents are superheroes. I can keep a secret."

"But…" Kara looked between Duke and Tiffany. "Neither of them wear glasses. And…your Grandpa wears glasses, but he's not a superhero."

Max blinked in response, then frowned like she was trying to put it all together, and Tiffany laughed, patting her daughter on the back. "You can try again later, Baby."

The girl forfeited, putting her headphones in and plopping down into an empty seat.

Pam smiled over at Kara like she approved of her lighthearted handling of the situation, and Kara was powerless against the blush that spread beneath her skin. Pamela's smiles—her genuine smiles—were so warm…Kara supposed not many people would guess that. But she knew it to be true. Just like everyone else she was now sitting with knew. An exclusive, secret club, and Kara was now a member. Or…was she? She hoped she was. She hoped she and Pamela could be closer friends now. Kara missed her friends. She didn't have many these days. They'd all left her too. Just like Selina and Barbara had left Pam.

Daisy was the last of the party to arrive, but when she did, she was wearing dark sunglasses and a ball cap pulled down over her eyes, a cup of coffee clutched in her hand.

They all watched curiously as she crossed quickly in front of them, not acknowledging anyone until she'd stopped in front of Jo, where she dug into her pocket and rather unceremoniously thrust forward a jewelry box big enough for earrings. "Here."

Jo looked at her strangely, reaching out a hand to take it before Daisy stopped her.

"Don't look at me," she snapped—red cheeks visible even while sporting her incognito look—her tone startling Garth, who immediately jumped off of Damian's lap and went to join his sister. "Or talk to me, or touch me," Daisy continued. "When you take this, I need it to be with your palms, not your fingers."

"Umm…OK, psycho," Jo said, cautiously holding out her hand for Daisy to deposit the box. Which she did quickly before moving to take a seat next to her sister.

Kara was fiercely biting her lip at this point—both to hide her smile and to withhold the information she'd been party to. But Pamela didn't seem to see the need to hide anything. Her smile was wry, like she was enjoying this very much, waiting to see how it would play out.

Jo frowned as she opened the box, smiling slightly at the diamond earrings, but clearly aware she was missing something. "Did you buy these?"

"Of course not," Daisy scoffed, receiving a nudge from her sister.

 _Did she…find them?_ Kara wondered. _That's lucky._

Lilah snickered. "Rough night?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Daisy mumbled into her coffee, saying "No!" when Jo turned around, looking to ask a follow up question.

"She was probably with the Vreeland girl again," Lilah teased. "You know, the one you specifically told her to stay away from, Mom."

"Daisy, goddamn it," Jo ignored her daughter's request, turning in her chair to face her. "I have to sit with her idiot mother at every gala we attend. Would it really be so hard to make my life just a little easier? Just…don't fuck the Vreeland girl? That's all I asked of you. One thing."

Kara leaned into Pam's ear, confused. "Does the Vreeland girl not have a first name?"

"She does, but they're all named Veronica, as far as we're concerned," Pam explained.

Kara wasn't…totally sure what that meant, but it seemed like maybe it was a joke that they were all in on? Kara wanted to be in on the joke.

Daisy sighed. "No, I was not fucking the Vreeland Girl. The Vreeland Girl got clingy."

"And you're just not built for monogamy, right?" Damian mocked, though he didn't turn around.

"Oh, yeah, hey, by the way," Terry cut in. "I like how you guys are all judgmental about me and Mareena's age difference, but completely turn a blind eye to the fact that Daisy still sleeps with college students, even though she's 36 just like the rest of us."

"God, is that why you're doing this hungover cryptid thing? Because some teenager kept you up all night?" Jo asked, in a tone that communicated she was about 500% done with this behavior.

Kara gripped Pam's hand tightly. _She's onto her!_ Almost too tight, actually. Though she realized that a little late.

"Kara."

The blonde looked down at their joined hands, and then retracted hers immediately. Her face once again going red. "Sorry!"

She was nervous for Daisy…but all this blushing was tiring her out.

"I'm not a pervert, Mom," Daisy exhaled. "She was 22. Now please get your hand off my knee."

"She runs track at GSU," Pam piped up as Jo retracted her hand.

Kara flinched at the sharp look Daisy shot their way, but Pam was unfazed.

"Really?" Jo was intrigued. "Do you think you'll see her again?"

"No, never," Daisy answered immediately…before her curiosity seemed to get the better of her. "Why?"

"Well, there's this woman…Babe, what was her name?" she posed the question to Damian. "The 400m runner who looks just like me? Seriously, Mom, you'd laugh. We were watching a meet the other day, and I swear, put this woman in a leotard and I'd say it was me."

Kara choked again, still on air, as she had yet to ingest a beverage, and Daisy's eyes immediately fell to her lap.

Pam chose to humor her daughter. "Is that so?"

Jo nodded. "Seriously, Babe, what was it? J…"

"Jocelyn?" Damian guessed. "Can't remember the last name."

"Jocelyn," Daisy quietly confirmed.

Kara had to look away. Just in the complete opposite direction. And not at anything in particular, either.

"Jocelyn," she could hear Pam smiling. "Well that's almost too good to be true. Does she go by Jo, Daisy?"

Jo was puzzled as she studied her Mother's satisfied expression, and how her daughter was slowly inching her ball cap down further and further, until her chin was all that was visible.

Kara slowly dragged her attention back to the train wreck playing out in front of her, watching Jo's jaw subtly loosen, her eyes widening as she put two and two together.

"Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Daisy Mae, didn't you ever see _Back to the Future_?!"

"Damn it, Daisy!" Terry seemed almost equally distressed. "You're gonna get us all erased!"

/

When she'd had Harley, Pamela used to look forward to her days off from The Watchtower. But now that she was gone and their house was empty, Pamela dreaded them. She used to spend time with her kids instead, but now that Anthony had moved back to San Francisco, and Jo…well she was busy. Busier now than ever, it seemed. She'd grown distant once more in the last few months, and Pamela honestly wasn't sure how to combat that. Harley was always better at pulling her back in.

The Watchtower was now Pam's respite from the tumultuous outside world. She worked in her specimen garden every day, cataloging alien plants, collecting rare Earth species, breeding and replanting…work truly was a vital distraction. Besides that, she was guaranteed to see two of her grandchildren every day, and that was truly just as special as the work she was allowed to do.

They all had their own lives now, too. And Pam wasn't nearly as interesting to them as she had been when they were children. Now they had children of their own—well, Terry and Duke did, anyway—and the position of Great Grandmother seemed far less important than her previous post.

She'd cried the day Maxine was born, and Garth and Tula too. Cried knowing how much Harley had adored her grandchildren. Remembering how she'd held Duke in her arms that first day, looking at their son's child with such pride, love, and disbelief mixed all into one.

 _"He's so perfect," Harley whispered. "Have you ever seen a baby so perfect?"_

Harley would never know his daughter. Would never know the joy on Anthony's face when he became a grandfather. Or on Jo's when Garth and Tula were born, despite her obvious reservations about their mother.

Harley would never be splashed in the face by Garth as he practiced his hydrokinesis in the sink, or see Max don her Robin suit, or Tula communicate telepathically. Yes, she could really do that, and Pam knew Harley would find all of her great grandchildren's abilities absolutely delightful.

 _"Regret is a pointless emotion." Ivy began. "It's reflective in nature, and that's all it will ever be. It comes with guilt, and a mind crippled by guilt will only ever allow for horizontal growth, which, really isn't growth at all, now is it?"_

Pam knew she should take her own advice. That continuing to be weighed down by this irrepressible self-loathing didn't serve her. Didn't serve anyone. But it still hurt, more than words could describe, it hurt every time her great grandchildren smiled. Every significant event or everyday occurrence her family experienced…the simple act of living felt like a betrayal to Harley.

Kara was helpful, though.

She liked to work with Ivy in the garden, and Ivy had to admit she appreciated the company. It was nice, to have someone that felt constant again. Yes, Pam's children were only a phone call away, but Kara was right here, every day…her hands digging in the dirt, a smile on her face or tears in her eyes depending on her mood.

She wasn't as quick with her emotions as Harley, but she felt things very deeply. Was perhaps more empathetic than Harley, and still grieving, just like Pam.

But Kara made Pam happy.

She loved how her blue eyes sparkled…how intently she listened…the giggles she tried to muffle behind her hand…the crinkle between her eyes and the furrow in her brow when she was trying especially hard to concentrate…

"Do you think you could ever fall in love again?"

The question yanked Pam from her musings, and it was only then she realized she'd been staring. Hoping Kara hadn't noticed, set down her watering can, leaning back on her heels where she knelt in the dirt. "Theoretically, yes."

"But…you don't want to?" Kara ventured.

Returning to her work, Pam murmured, "Sometimes I like the idea of it, but then I realize it would be inherently unfair to whoever it is I'm trying to love."

"Why?" Kara asked, setting down her trowel, watching Pamela carefully.

"Because I'm still in love with Harleen," Pam told her, staring down at the delicate pink petals of the flower below her fingertips.

She heard Kara move closer, walking over to her on her knees, until she was kneeling right beside her.

Kara spread the fingers of her left hand so that Pam could plainly see the wedding ring she still wore, before reaching forward to take Pam's hand in her own. "You have such a big heart, Pamela," she told her. "Every day, you witness a million births and two million deaths. And you're all alone with a head full of memories and a heart full of grief."

Pam looked down at their joined hands, the green of the emeralds on Pam's ring reflecting in the silver of Kara's wedding band. "Are you still in love with Lena?" she asked, her voice somehow muted in the silence of the room.

"I think I always will be," Kara admitted. "But I have a lot of years left to live, and a lot of love to give, I think."

With Kara's super hearing, Pam was sure she knew how fast Pam's heart was now beating. She had to close her eyes at the warmth she felt spreading below her skin. Just thanks to a simple human touch. A bit of contact. This wasn't how it felt holding her children's hands, or even Selina's. This reminded her of Harley at the beginning. That night in the movie theater back at Arkham. Harley's fingers trailing off the armrest…drawing lazy circles on her thigh…

She missed that.

"Kara," Pam whispered. "May I kiss you?"

She didn't need super hearing to know Kara's heart was beating just as fast. "I wish you would."

 **Author's note: No, Garth, Tula and Max are not OCs.**


	83. Chapter 83

Pamela's stomach turned as the wind whipped through her hair. She was suddenly reminded of that rollercoaster Harley had insisted they go on. It'd been awful. Better when she grasped Harley's hand, though, just as this experience improved when she wrapped her arms around Kara's neck.

"Am I going too fast?"

Pam could barely hear her with the wind whistling around them. "No, just—don't drop me."

"Pamela," Kara slowed down as she approached the needle point of a skyscraper, gently setting her down on the uppermost ring. "I would never drop you," she assured her, hands resting on her thighs.

Vines shot out of Ivy's arms as she panicked when the building swayed, securing her to the spot…at the same time rendering her immobile.

Supergirl's eyes widened with realization and embarrassment. "Oh no, are you afraid of heights?"

"I think—most people that—can't fly—would be afraid of this height," Ivy gritted, trying her best to stay positive, though her heart was in her throat and her stomach was tied into knots, and not exactly in a pleasant way. "Plants prefer to stay rooted."

"Well…then it's a good thing you're up here with me," Kara smiled reassuringly, moving her hands from her thighs to her waist and holding her firmly. "I thought, since I spend all day in the garden with you, maybe you'd like to spend some time in the sky with me?"

Ivy raised an eyebrow. "All day?"

"OK, so maybe I wanted to show off a little," Kara sheepishly admitted. "I can do cool stuff too, see?"

Pam laughed, the fear fading for just a moment. "I never doubted that."

Kara grinned, leaning forward suddenly to kiss her, blushing when she pulled back a few moments later. "I'm sorry, I got excited."

Looking up at her from beneath her lashes, Pam murmured, "I don't see what you have to apologize for." And when Kara's smile broadened, Pam attempted to raise her hands to pull her into a deeper kiss…only to be unceremoniously stopped by her vines, resulting in an awkward jerking motion.

Kara belly laughed when Ivy flushed a darker shade of green. "I think maybe we're both a little rusty."

This time, Pam was successful in freeing her arms, trusting that Kara's grip on her waist would keep her in place, and kissed her to stop Kara's laughter, tangling her hands in her blonde hair as it whipped about.

She may have been able to stop her laughing, but her smile seemed there to stay…though even that faded away when Ivy teased her lips with her tongue, resulting in a startled moan that sent the winged creatures in Ivy's stomach aflutter.

/

"You guys read Catco this morning?"

"Seeing as how neither of us are teenaged girls or stay-at-home moms trying to stay informed in between soccer pick-ups…no," Jo replied distractedly, without looking up from her Sudoku.

"You were a stay-at-home mom, Mom," Daisy reminded her, joining her parents at the table. "And Delilah was a collegiate soccer player."

" _Were_ being the operative word…" Jo mumbled. "I was also a teenaged girl at one point. And yes, I read a lot of Catco Magazine. I'm sorry," she finally set her stylus down. "Why are you here, again? It's 9am."

"Aren't you usually shooing a scantily clad woman out of your loft right about now?" Damian posed after a sip of coffee.

Ignoring her Father, Daisy said, "Just making sure you're doing alright."

"And why wouldn't I be?"

"You know why, Mom."

Rolling her eyes, Jo heaved a rather aggressive sigh. "Why do I need to read Catco? Are fitted suits going out of fashion again? Your Dad's gonna cry."

"And I'm not tucking my shirt in without a belt, either," Damian snapped. "Nor am I allowing my shoes to tie themselves. I have one and a half hands for a reason."

"Yeah!" Jo agreed with feigned gusto. "So you can stubbornly fumble with your laces for 30 minutes and make us late to everything!"

Daisy wrinkled her nose, looking between her parents. "What happened to you guys? 60 isn't supposed to be indiscernible from 80."

"We were tired at 20, Babe," Jo explained. "Now show me what I need to see so I can go back to bed."

Disappointed with the less than enthusiastic build-up, Daisy pulled her tablet out of her bag, unlocking it and sliding it over so her Mother could see.

Jo frowned. "Pretty sure the Mommy kink thing is your issue, not mine."

"What?"

Jo held up the screen, pointing at the google search "psychoanalysis of mommy kink".

Daisy's face went bright red, nearly launching across the table to snatch it away from her, though Jo dodged her, calmly scrolling down the search results before she began to laugh.

"Well will you lookie here," she opened up a page. " _Constructs of the 'Mommy Complex'_ , by Dr. Harleen F. Quinzel, M.D—Christ, the internet is terrifying. Good find, but I really don't feel like reading an academic paper on my parents' sex life; you understand."

"That's not—well, yeah, umm—yeah, well that was only the first thing I wanted to show you," Daisy stumbled through her words, though her skin did return to a normal color, waiting for Jo to return the tablet to her. When she did, Daisy opened the website she'd intended to in the first place, showing her the front page image of Supergirl kissing Poison Ivy atop a building in National City.

"Oh my God." Jo blinked, taking in the photo in all its glory. "D—Babe, Damian, look."

"Hm?" he mused, setting down the cream he'd been pouring into his coffee, taking the tablet when it was handed to him.

It seemed to take him a second to figure out what he was looking that, but when he did, he immediately launched the tablet at the wall, completely shattering the screen. "Her?!"

Daisy was horrified, and jumped out of her seat in surprise…thoroughly bewildered when Jo's reaction to Damian's apparent outburst was a gleeful laugh.

"Why, Pamela? Why?!"

"What the fuck, you guys?!" Daisy demanded. "That thing was like $2000!"

Jo was only barely able to restrain her laugh to a smile when she said, "Well fuck me sideways. Damian, how are we gonna get our hands on that kinda dough?!"

Damian fished around in the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet and tossing it across the table at his daughter. "Worth it."

/

Kara looked nervously over her shoulder as she keyed in the code for the front door, the machine scanning her handprint before finally unlocking.

Pam offered a smile when Kara turned around to look at her again. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly, almost defensively. "No, not really, it's just…well, I haven't had anyone here since Lena…since she passed."

Frowning slightly, Pam said, "You haven't had any company over in 10 years?"

"No, no, I have, I have, ha ha," Kara sounded uncomfortable as she adjusted her glasses. "Just not somebody—somebody like you. Somebody who I…"

"Kiss and go to dinner with?" Pam helped her out.

"Right," Kara nodded. "Yeah, that.

"Well, I promise you I'll be respectful," Pam assured her. "But I also don't want to force you into anything you're uncomfortable with. So if you'd like me to go—,"

"No!" Kara planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "No, please don't go, I just…Sorry," she laughed. "Sorta freaked out for a second there. Anyway, umm—so yeah." She pushed the door open, holding it for Pam to step in first.

The redhead slipped her overcoat off of her shoulders as she entered the foyer, hanging it over her forearm before Kara took it from her, putting it up in the closet near the front door.

The lights came on automatically as they stepped into the first room, and it was all very…shiny. Like something out of those _Star Trek_ movies Anthony loved so much as a child. Or like a homier version of the Justice League Watchtower. Though it still felt rather stark for what Pam had expected of Kara.

That's when Pam remembered Lena had been an engineer. "Was Lena the decorator?"

"And the architect." Kara smiled contentedly, her hands on her hips. "It's called a smart house. She designed the whole thing. Programed it herself…she was really proud of it."

The further her eyes wandered, the more impressed Pam became. "Is it equipped with AI technology?"

"Yep!" Kara grinned, clapping her hands. "Hey, Mom?"

"Welcome home, Kara," a woman's voice replied—though no physical body materialized. "Who is your friend?"

"Oh, um, this is Pamela," Kara replied. "She's a friend from work…and stuff."

Pam chuckled. "You call your AI 'Mom'?"

"Well, it is my Mom, sorta…" Kara attempted to explain. "See, the pod I was sent here in came equipped with his holographic AI manifestation of my Mother. My real Mother died when Krypton did, but this was a way for her to stay alive for me, in a way. She can answer my questions, give advice…basically just a kind ear with a human and Kryptonian encyclopedia in her head. But Lena found a way to merge the Kyptonian technology with what she set up here…so now Mom runs the house."

"That's…brilliant," Pam realized.

"She said with surprise in her voice, for some reason." Kara giggled. "Sorry to introduce you to my Mom right off the bat."

"Well, you've met my entire living family," Pam reminded her. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Zor-El," she addressed the empty room, receiving a grin and a blush from Kara in return.

"The pleasure is all—,"

"OK, you can go away now, Mom," Kara interrupted, her gaze trained resolutely on her feet. "Sorry, she can be nosy. Are you hungry? I have ice cream. Pistachio. I thought you might like pistachio ice cream."

 _"_ _Look, Mom!" Anthony exclaimed, shoving the mess in Pam's face. "It's like the polar ice caps!"_

 _Harleen bit her lip to starve off a laugh and tried to read Pam's reaction._

 _The redhead looked at the melted cone and then at her son's proud expression at his analogy. "An apt assessment."_

Pam cleared her throat, closing her eyes for a moment. "Actually, I got plenty of sun today," she plastered on a smile. "I think I'm full."

"You don't like sweets that much, huh?" Kara prompted.

"See, if you were Harleen, that would be the set up for a joke on how you are the exception." Pam couldn't help herself…but Kara didn't seem to mind.

"That's…kind've suggestive," Kara laughed, the sound transforming Pam's smile into something more genuine.

"It certainly is."

It was silent for a moment before Kara moved on. "Can—um—can I have some, though?"

/

 _"_ _So…I caught wind of something_."

"Oh?"

 _"_ _Yes, yes, it seems…well, it's appears—I don't want to jump to any conclusions—but it appears Poison Ivy might be…a lesbian."_

Jo gasped. "The scandal!"

 _"_ _I know, I know,"_ Anthony acknowledged gravely. _"I am as surprised as you are. Floored, even."_

"How unnatural of a man-hating vegetarian."

Anthony laughed. _"Alright, in all seriousness, this is like the 6_ _th_ _time I've seen them in the tabloids in the last three months, and…she still hasn't talked to me about it."_

"Well, perhaps she's not serious about it," Jo theorized. "Maybe she's just blowing off some steam."

 _"_ _Since when has Mom been that type?"_

Jo sighed, laying back on her bed. "I don't know; I'm just trying to make you feel better. I'm sure she feels like it's a betrayal to us, or something. Like she's betraying Ma…I assume including us would make it feel more real."

 _"_ _Do you think she's betraying Ma?"_

"Ma's dead, Tony. Mom staying faithful for the rest of eternity isn't going to bring her back, and if it would, you know she'd lock up that chastity belt in an instant."

 _"…_ _yeah, I know."_

"Thanks for the birthday card, by the way," Jo changed the subject.

 _"_ _62…"_ she could hear him smiling through the phone. _"I guess that makes me old."_

"Yeah, and your lady friend even older."

Anthony scoffed. _"I'd prefer 'Partner'."_

"No…you'd prefer 'wife'," Jo corrected. "It's just some fucking papers, Anthony, and it would make you happy. I don't see why she still insists on this _I don't believe in marriage_ shit."

"She's 78," there was a sad acceptance in his voice. "Doesn't really matter anymore."

"You were 22 when you met, Bro," Jo reminded him. "She had plenty of fucking time. And it matters to you."

Anthony sighed. _"Look, Jo, I gotta go. Glad I caught you, though."_

"Me too," she smiled against the phone. "I love you, alright?"

 _"_ _Yeah, alright. Ditto."_

"You should call her," Damian encouraged from the doorway after Anthony hung up.

Jo kept the phone at her ear, meanwhile letting her gaze drift to the ceiling before, eventually, letting her eyes slip closed. "I had a nightmare last night," she murmured. "Ma was…inside of her…and she pulled her close by her dress, leaned into her hear, and whispered those same words. His words. And I…I could feel her heart stop beating in her chest."

"He…meaning her rapist?" Damian asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Jo nodded silently, her eyes still closed.

"Did Harleen know?"

"Yes," Jo mumbled. "I had that dream years ago. Mom was in the hospital, and Ma was—God, she was so young. And she told her Woodrue wasn't her monster anymore. Told her to leave him behind."

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Meanwhile, Harleen pocketed that information for future use?"

Jo pressed her palms into her eye sockets, letting the phone rest on her pillow. "I used to think I had Ma nailed, and Mom was this…bizarre enigma. But I'm realizing I only really knew the parts of Ma she wanted to show us."

"Would you have wanted to meet the other parts?" Damian asked. "Now that you know about them?"

Jo curled into the fetal position, bringing her knees to her chest and rolling over onto her side. "I don't want to think about it right now."

"Well, maybe you—,"

"Don't."

She could feel his anger rising, even without looking at him.

"Call your Mother."

/

Pam pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, turning on her phone after she'd retracted her leotard and changed into her civilian clothes.

No missed calls, but there was an unread text message waiting for her.

 **Jolene: hey mom r u free tonite?**

Rolling her eyes, Pam replied: **Are you allergic to complete spelling?**

She replied rather quickly, which honestly surprised Pam, Jo wasn't exactly great at getting back to people.

 **Jolene: that a yes?**

Another text came in before Pam could type a response.

 **Jolene: can u and kara come to dinner? I'm not cocking don't worry**

…

…

 ***cooking**

…

 **But im not doing that other thing either**

Pam laughed out loud, and Kara raised an amused eyebrow at her from across the room as she buttoned her shirt. "What's so funny?"

"An unfortunate spelling error," Pam explained quickly, reading over the text message again, and biting her lip until she built up the courage to ask: "would you like to come to dinner at my daughter's house tonight?"

A smile spread slowly over Kara's lips until it had grown into a face-splitting grin. "You really want me to?"

"Well, yes…but Jo also requested it," Pam admitted.

Kara's eyes went wide. "She did?"

Now Pam was a bit confused. "I seem to recall you socializing with my daughter on multiple occasions, beginning when she was 10 years old, if I remember correctly."

"No, I mean—yeah." Kara blushed. "But we weren't, um, kissing and going to dinner then."

"Oh…" Pam still wasn't completely sure what Kara was to her. Someone that made her feel safe and warm, certainly. Who made her smile, and who made her heart beat faster when they touched…but, was Jo expecting some formal introduction? Would she ask Pam to define their relationship? _Could_ Pam define their relationship? What did Jo want to hear? "I don't see why it has to be any different," she eventually decided. "I'd like you to come."

"OK," Kara agreed with a shy smile. "Then I'd love to."

/

"Yeah, three of those, please. Actually," Jo amended. "Make it four. Same with the chicken….Yeah, yeah, big party," she humored the man taking her order over the phone. "Delivery, please. Can you have it here in an hour?...what if I guarantee at least a $100 tip?...$200?...great. Thank you."

She hung up, discarding her pajama pants and replacing them with a pair of slacks, noticing the sound of a struggle in the other room now that the line was dead.

Leaving the closet for the bedroom, Jo found Damian standing in front of the mirror, fumbling with his bowtie.

"You can't do that with one hand," she reminded him. When he didn't answer, she followed up with, "Did you leave the prosthetic downstairs?"

"It's fine," he mumbled with obvious frustration.

Jo rolled her eyes. "Why are you even wearing that? It's my Mother, not the Queen of England."

"Can you just leave me alone?" he snapped. "Have to figure this out eventually, don't I?"

With an exasperated sigh, Jo asked, "Can I help you this time? Please? It's painful to watch."

Damian laughed mirthlessly. "This is painful to watch? _This_? How fucking ironic."

"Fine," Jo murmured after a few moments of searching for a response. "If this is how you want to go about it, it's—fine. That's your prerogative." She headed for the stairs. "Be downstairs in 30, bowtie or not."

"Hey, Mom," Delilah greeted as soon as she'd descended the grand staircase. "So Tiff's supposed to be following up a lead in Central tonight, meaning Duke needs to be on harbor patrol, but the Batmobile's still got that fucked axis."

"And?" Jo asked impatiently, heading for the kitchen.

Delilah followed, speaking as she did. "And, Max is with me tonight, but Tiff's taking the motorcycle. So what should we do? Not sure we can cover the patrol area on foot."

"Ugh!" Jo stopped to slam her fist against the wall. "I swear I'm about this close to flying to San Francisco and dragging my goddamn brother back here by his hair. The car should have been fucking fixed by now."

"Yeah, I know, Luke says he's working on it, but he's not as fast as Uncle Tony," Delilah apologized.

"This isn't my fucking job anymore, Delilah," Jo rather forcefully reminded her. "When we turned the mantles over, we did it with the expectation that you three would have your shit together."

Delilah looked surprised, blinking as her face went red. "I know, Mom, I'm just—sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. It's OK, me and Duke can figure it out."

Jo closed her eyes at her daughter's hurt expression, leaning against the wall, rubbing one of her temples with her middle and index fingers. "No, _I'm_ sorry. That wasn't me, it—,"

"I know what it was, Mom," Delilah quietly interrupted. "Do you need an Advil or something?"

"Doesn't work on me," Jo murmured distractedly. "Have Duke drop Tiffany off in Central with the plane before he heads to the harbor, attach the side-car to the motorcycle and you and Max can take that."

"Oh…yeah, good idea," Lilah tried to smile. "Are you, um, gonna talk to Grandma tonight?"

"Leave it alone, Delilah," Jo warned. "It's not happening."

"I just think—,"

"I said, leave it alone."


	84. Chapter 84

Pam let Kara step in front of her to ring the doorbell (it was a very fancy doorbell, the button was in a lion's mouth, and the bell itself sounded like classical music).

When she retracted her hand, she smoothed it nervously down her front, making sure her flannel was tucked flush into her jeans. She wanted to make a good 6th impression. They…seemed to like her alright last time, and the time before, but like she'd told Pam, this time was different. And she was feeling antsy.

While they waited, Pam leaned forward behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck (accessible thanks to her ponytail), and chuckling softly at the shiver that ran up Kara's spine.

 _Well that's no fair._

Kara was lacing their fingers together when the door was finally opened by Damian dressed in a tuxedo, whose eyes quickly flitted from Kara's shirt, to her blush, to their joined hands.

"Honey!" he called back over his shoulder. "The gays are here!"

They heard Jo cackle from somewhere inside.

"Kara, this is my Son-in-law, Damian," Pam introduced them like this was the first time meeting. "He was a 22-year-old virgin and has only slept with one woman in his life."

Kara assumed they weren't actually expecting her to respond.

Damian's smile didn't quite reach his eyes when he offered a, "charming," before turning swiftly, heading back inside the house, implying that they should follow.

Pam closed the door behind them and Kara hurried quickly after him, taking in her surroundings as best she could at this pace. _They walk so fast!_ The house was huge, like—gigantic, with ceilings so high Kara bet she could fly around in here without breaking anything.

In what Kara guessed was the living room hung a giant painting of a dark haired man and a woman with… _is that little Bruce in front of them?_ "Is that your Dad?" Kara pointed, not realizing she was interrupting a conversation until Pam and Damian both looked at her oddly. "Sorry," she apologized, her face red as a fire hydrant.

"Yeah," Damian answered anyway. "My father and his parents, Thomas and Martha." Then he pointed at the slightly smaller picture to its right—this one an actual photograph rather than a painting. "That's My Father, My Mother, Dick, Tim, Carrie, and Stephanie."

Kara recognized the woman he'd called his Mother as Selina Kyle. "And that's you, Jo, Terry, Delilah and Daisy," she pointed to the next photo.

Damian looked. "Actually, that's Delilah and _that's_ Daisy. But it's alright, you're not the first to make that mistake," he assured her, continuing on their journey to the dining room (Kara hoped).

"Just a simple 'thank you' would suffice," Pam resumed what Kara guessed was the conversation she'd interrupted. "I could have made her a boy, and then where would you be?"

"I don't know," Damian pushed open the door to— _yes!—_ the dining room, which was lit with soft warm light that made Kara feel an odd sense of relief. Jo was at the end of the table, serving food from takeout containers onto plates. "Do you think we'd still be married if you were a guy?" Damian asked her.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Jo responded without hesitation. Without even looking up, actually. "But me having a dick wouldn't change the fact that I'm a top, so keep that in mind—hey, Mom! Glad you could make it."

Kara's mouth was already beginning to water as she gazed at the table.

"Thank you for invitation," Pam answered with a safe sort of smile, like she didn't want to over-commit to anything. "Will any of the children be joining us?"

"Oh, no, sorry." Jo emptied two entire cartons of noodles onto one plate, setting it down next to the one with only spring rolls. "Daisy's moving something down at The Iceberg, Terry couldn't make the trip from Atlantis, and Lilah's on a date."

"A date?" Pam sounded intrigued. "With who?"

"Eh, who knows," Jo shrugged. "Too many characters anyway. Don't think we need to introduce another. Here, come sit down—Mom, Kara." She indicated the spring rolls and then the noodles. "If you need more, Kara, there's some extra in the kitchen. Ordered from two places to make sure I had all my bases covered."

Kara grinned, sitting down as instructed, and waiting until Pam and Damian had joined her to grab for her fork…only to realize only chop sticks had been provided. "Oh, um, I'm not super good with chopsticks…I just—I get too excited sometimes, and I…well, I break them. I've been known to break them."

"Would it be weird if I asked to adopt you?" Jo wondered, sitting down as Damian left to get a fork.

"Obviously—yes," Pam answered, nonplussed.

"Right, right," Jo sounded apologetic as she picked up her chopsticks. "Can't be my daughter and my Step-mom, now can you?"

Kara's jaw went slack. "No, I—Jolene, I'm not—I could never take the place of your Mother."

Jo laughed, even harder when she noticed Pam was flushed as well. "Kara, Honey, I'm 62 years old. I think I'm gonna be alright."

Damian returned from the kitchen, handing Kara her fork before taking his seat next to his wife. "So…Kara…" he said it like the name was foreign. "Tell us about yourself."

Kara laughed, thinking he was making a joke, as Damian had known her since he was a child, and they'd worked together in The League for over 20 years. But her laugh began to die out when she noticed his expression hadn't changed, and Jo was watching her intently—expectantly—as she chewed.

Pam seemed a bit puzzled as well, lowering her spring roll back to her plate without taking a bite.

"Oh, uh—," the blonde adjusted her glasses. "Well, I'm a freelance reporter…" she began to tell them.

"Do you make a good living?" Jo wanted to know.

"Um, good enough, I guess," Kara shrugged. "But Lena left everything to me when she passed, so I don't really have to work, I just want to."

"Mm…" Damian acknowledged, taking a sip of his water, and allowing Kara a bite of food before his next question. "So where are you from?"

Kara swallowed, a crinkle forming between her brows. "Krypton. I was sent here at 13."

"Yeah, how is that possible?" Jo questioned. "I always wondered. Because Clark was an infant when he left, right?"

"Oh, well yeah," Kara confirmed. "See, Krypton's destruction sent a shock wave that knocked my pod off course and into the Phantom Zone. A region in space where time doesn't pass. I slept there for 24 years until somehow I got here."

"And you age at a slower rate than humans," Damian followed up. "Is that because of your reaction to the yellow sun? Or are Kryptonian lifespans truly that much longer."

Kara was nodding as she chewed, swallowing as quickly as she could. "The sun, yes. Happens for the same reason my powers do."

"So…let's see…" Jo narrowed her eyes, thinking. "If you were 13 when you left, hung out in the Phantom Zone for 24 years, and have been here for…what? 80? That makes you like 117. And Mom, you're coming up on 142, right?"

"That's right," Pam quietly acknowledged.

Jo continued: "So 25 years. And you and Ma were…"

"38," Pam answered.

"Fascinating." Jo twirled her noodles with her chopsticks. "Is your degree in journalism, Kara?"

"Mhm," Kara nodded with her mouth full. "City College. Cat Grant hired me as her assistant right after I graduated."

"Good for you." Jo smiled across the table, before her eyes flitted to her mother. "Mom, you haven't even touched your food," she said with noticeable disappointment.

"There's shrimp in here," Pam told her, picking the roll apart. "I don't like shrimp."

"Young lady, you will eat what I put in front of you," Jo warned. "I don't want to embarrass you in front of your friend."

And then Pam seemed to realize what they were doing because she set her chopsticks down. "Is this why you invited me over? To make a joke?"

"We needed to make sure you weren't cavorting around with some aimless hooligan, Pamela," Damian backed her up, deadpanning his statement, just as Jo had.

"It's not funny," Pam snapped.

Now Jo was laughing. "It's pretty funny."

"We just want what's best for you, Pumpkin," Damian told her.

"Damian, please address her by her full name," Jo set him straight. "…Pumpkin Spice."

"You're not my Father!" Ivy caviled, though even Kara was laughing now, which forced the redhead to cross her arms petulantly, sitting back in her chair with a pout. "If your Mother were here…"

"She would have pissed her pants," Jo assured her.

After the laughing had died down, Kara decided to address what she felt like was an elephant in the room. "You must really miss your Mom, huh?"

"Oh, I still see her plenty," Jo smiled across the table. "She just doesn't come to talk to me."

Kara wasn't quite sure what that meant…but Pam looked a bit uncomfortable when she said it.

Damian cleared his throat, pushing his food to one side of his plate to distract himself, seeming to no longer be able to look Pam in the eye.

"I have to use the restroom," Pam stood up from her chair. "Can you two promise to leave Kara alone until I return?"

"Pinky-swear." Jo nodded.

Pam took one more slightly worried look at Kara before leaving the room, squeezing the blonde's shoulder on the way out.

Jo waited a moment after she'd left to turn to Kara, and the blonde instantly began to sweat under her scrutiny. "I have one more question," she began. "And then I promise you we'll leave you alone."

"OK," Kara nodded quickly. "What do you want to know?"

Jo pursed her lips, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the table for a moment before beginning. "My Mother was raped, frequently and violently, by the man who gave her her powers."

Kara stilled in her chair, her blood running cold in her veins. She remembered hearing about that some years ago, but Pam had never brought it up with her.

"Now, I don't know if that's information she's shared with you, or if you were made aware of it by another source, or if this is the first you've heard about it…but your answer to this question is important."

"OK," Kara croaked.

"Would you ever use that information against her in any way?" Jo asked. "Would you ever reference it to win an argument, or for the purposes of hurting her?"

Kara couldn't even believe—how could someone—? "N—no! No. Who would do something like that? I care about her, really, I would—I would never."

"Kara," Jo stopped her with an even tone. "I need you to look me in the eyes right now."

The blonde did as she was told, noticing that Jo's eyes were now glistening with tears, and glowing an almost unnatural green.

"Promise me," Jo said.

"Jolene," Kara sat forward. "I promise you. I would never, ever, hurt her on purpose. Especially with something like that."

Jo searched her face for a moment, like she was looking for a tell. But evidently finding none, she just nodded. "Good. Your reward is a subject change."

Once again, Kara felt put on the spot, and her mind was already occupied with the weight of the question she'd just been asked. But she did manage some semi-genuine interest. "So how has retirement been?"

That's when Pam reentered the room, sitting back down beside Kara, searching her face just as Jo had, though this was to see if she was OK.

 _They have the same eyes_ …Kara realized.

"It's alright," Damian answered her question. "We sleep a lot more…actually spend time together in civilian clothes…yesterday we went to breakfast. That's a thing that people do."

"Yes," Kara laughed. "I'm so happy for you! Breakfast is the best! How long has it been, again?"

"12 years," Jo told her.

"And now you let your kids run it?" Kara asked. "Must be cool to have your son be Batman just like you."

"We actually have two Batmen," Jo pointed out. "Terry belongs to the Justice League, and Duke is Batman in Gotham. He and Tiffany run things here while Terry and Lilah help you guys out, though Lilah splits her time."

"She's a very hard worker," Pam smiled.

"Hey, so is the other one," Jo laughed. "It's just not helpful for us."

Kara was confused. "You guys…don't ever go to The Iceberg? It's a really nice place, Pam and I went there for a minute. Heard the food's really good too, I was just too hungry, so we had to go somewhere else. I'm not good with small portions."

"Ooh…" Jo rested her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. "Mom, can I tell her?"

Pam sighed, sitting back. "Have at it."

"The Iceberg lounge is essentially the primary hub for Gotham's black market," Jo explained. "Daisy is the eastern seaboard's most infamous jewel thief. Goes by Wildcat? I'm sure you've seen her on the news."

"Wh—huh?" Kara stammered.

"She uses The Iceberg to move her merchandise," Damian elaborated. "So…good at what she does, yes, but supremely unhelpful."

Pam was watching Kara as she glanced, wide eyed, between the three of them. "And you just—you guys just let that happen? You don't even care?"

Jo shrugged. "She's been known to fall in line when we need a hand. There's always gray area, Kara. You can either embrace it, or continue to see the world in black and white. But we live in the gray. Mom too." She nodded over at Pam.

"But…but Daisy doesn't hurt people, right?" Kara assured herself.

"Oh, no," Jo laughed. "I'm pretty sure I've hurt more people than Daisy has."

"Me too," Damian agreed.

Pam nodded when Kara looked over at her. "The gray area is where we excel."

Kara didn't quite know what to do with that, so her eyes just wandered back to her plate. Maybe her mind was tied into knots, but her stomach wasn't. Frowning, she dug in for another bite.

It was another two hours before they left. They played a game of Yahtzee after dinner, and for a moment, Kara was reminded of her game nights with Alex, Maggie, Winn and James all those years ago…maybe Jo and Damian could become friends to her. Real friends. She missed…having friends.

Pam's smile remained somewhat muted, cursing occasionally about her luck…and she clearly wasn't ready for the excited kiss Kara pulled her into after she rolled a Yahtzee.

Her skin felt hot beneath Kara's hands, and she didn't exactly reciprocate. When Kara pulled back, she found Pam had blushed a darker shade of green, the redhead immediately stealing a nervous glance at her daughter.

Jo, for her part, was watching them with the traces of a tired smile on her face. "Yahtzee," she murmured, taking the dice for her turn. "Congratulations, Kara."

As they were leaving, Jo brought Pam in for a tight hug, closing her eyes over her Mother's shoulder. "It was really good seeing you," she murmured.

Pam smiled in agreement. "We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Yeah," Jo released her. "Sometime."

/

Kara was quiet on the ride back to the house, and if Pam was being honest, she found the behavior worrisome.

The night had gone far better than Pam expected. Kara seemed to have enjoyed the majority of it, and typically happy Kara was very talkative.

"Are you OK?" Pam finally ventured as they made the final turn towards her house. Kara was planning to fly back tonight, so she knew she didn't have much time, but she wanted to leave things on a good note.

It took a moment for Kara to respond. Actually, it took until Pam pulled into the driveway. Once the engine was off, the blonde slowly turned to look at her. Focusing on her hand for a moment, twisting her wedding ring, before finally meeting Pam's eyes. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Pam answered, "Yes, of course," before the full weight of the question hit her. _Oh…_ In a second confirmation, Pam just nodded, feeling like, if she answered aloud, Harley might hear.

Kara smiled shyly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and if you squinted in the darkness at just the right angle, it could have been Harley sitting in the passenger seat. Pam wasn't sure whether or not that should be a comfort…but a warm feeling did begin to spread in her stomach, so she decided not to question it, getting out and walking around the car to Kara's door, opening it for her and taking her hand to lead her inside.

She didn't turn the lights on after entering the house. She…she wanted Kara. She did. She knew she did. But she couldn't look Harleen in the eye beforehand. Couldn't face her. Her stomach was teeming with guilt and anticipation, and the only way to forge ahead was to lower her gaze and lead Kara quickly up the staircase, choosing the first door on their right.

"Is this your bedroom?" Kara asked as Pam shut the door behind them, her voice quiet too, perhaps for the same reason. Perhaps she didn't want to wake Harley's ghost either.

"No," Pam murmured, and when their eyes met, she knew Kara understood.

They remained in darkness for a long while, just standing, watching each other…until, eventually, Kara began to slowly unbutton her shirt. Her blue eyes never leaving Pam's green ones.

Pam swallowed as Kara's hands neared the waistband of her own jeans, and she tentatively stepped forward to help her with her belt so that she could free the shirt completely.

Placing a kiss on the blonde's now bare shoulder, she stripped the flannel off…little by little…leaving Kara in just her bra and jeans.

Pam took a step back to study her, her eyes first fixating on the shadows cast across her stomach as the moonlight from the window danced along her pronounced abdominal muscles.

Gradually, her gaze lifted, following the lines of her lean stomach up to the powder blue of her bra, the swell of her breasts, the smooth skin of her neck, and finally her face, catching the nervousness in her expression, the uncertainty in her eyes behind her glasses.

"You're very pretty," Pam whispered, a certain awe in her voice. "Very…strong," she stepped forward once more, her hand outstretched, tracing the lines of the muscles in her stomach with feather-light fingers.

Pam was mesmerized by the warmth of Kara's skin beneath her touch, and Kara took the opportunity to slip Pam's jacket off of her shoulders, revealing her sleeveless dress, and setting the jacket on the vanity in the corner. "May I…?" Kara asked as she laced her hands around Pam's back, her fingers pausing on the zipper, waiting for a clear affirmation.

She kissed Kara then, with more reverence than hunger, but it was enough to communicate that, yes, this was what she wanted. And Kara took her cue, dragging the zipper down her back, and then helping her out of her sleeves, pulling the fabric down her chest and abdomen, over her hips and down her legs until Pam steadied herself on Kara's shoulders to first step out of the dress, and then her heels.

Kara's eyes were closed when they separated, and it didn't seem to Pam like she intended to open them any time soon. Her breathing was shallow and her cheeks were flushed…and really, Pam hadn't even touched her yet. It was as if Kara had been subjected to a heavy dose of Ivy's pheromones.

"Don't you want to look at me?" Pam questioned. She knew she was a sight to behold in lingerie, knew people who would kill for the opportunity to see her like this…but she supposed Kara wasn't like that. She was too gentle, too careful, and this was too important for both of them.

"Yes," Kara whispered. "I do, but…I'm afraid."

Pam subtly tilted her head, raising her hand to cup Kara's cheek, her eyes focusing on her pink lips as she wet them. "Why?"

"You're Poison Ivy," Kara murmured. "A goddess…I'm not…sure I'm worthy."

Ivy's chest bloomed with affection, and she leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the blonde's lips. Her hands wandering from Kara's cheeks, down to her shoulders, and finally settling around her waist. Pam led her backwards to the bed, guiding her head to the pillow, and sliding down her body to untie her shoes.

"You're Supergirl," Pam whispered. "The symbol of virtue…" she placed a kiss on Kara's stomach after discarding her first shoe and sock. "Integrity…and hope. You, Kara Zor-El, are absolutely worthy."

She'd finished with the other shoe by the time Kara finally opened her eyes, her breath hitching when Pam crawled back over her body on the bed.

"Hi," Pam breathed, hovering above Kara's face.

Kara blushed. "Hi. You're gorgeous."

Laughing, Pam thanked her, and the sound seemed to excite Kara because she then pulled her down into a searing kiss, her hand around the back of Pam's neck.

It occurred to Pam then, that if Kara squeezed even a little too hard, she could crush her spine in her hands. Rip her in half, break her in two…but despite Kara's immense strength, there was no gentler being currently walking the Earth. She had to be in complete control of herself at all times because even the slightest misstep could have a rather gruesome ending.

But Pam trusted her. For some reason, she trusted Kara completely. Trusted that she'd be gentle, careful, mindful. Trusted her enough to invite her into her home and submit to her completely.

Pam's lips had strayed from Kara's now, trailing down the blonde's neck instead, feeling occasional nervous swallows, her chest expanding and deflating with each shallow breath.

"You can touch me," Pam whispered against her skin.

And Kara did, tentatively at first, but she did wrap her arms around Pam's back, tracing the vines beneath Pam's green skin with her fingers.

Pam closed her eyes at that, sliding lower, moving her attentions to Kara's chest, the blonde arching her back so that she could unclasp her bra, setting it beside them on the bed and lowering her mouth to the smooth skin below her.

"Kara, can I—,"

"Yes, please…" she breathed, not waiting to hear the end of the question.

Pam allowed her tongue to continue its work while her hands traveled to the button of Kara's jeans, pulling the zipper down to give her hand more room as she pushed her fingers below the waistband of Kara's underwear.

The blonde jolted at the contact, her eyes slamming shut, immediately rolling her hips into Pam's hand. "Rao—Ivy," she moaned, tugging at Pam's shoulders with her hands, attempting to pull her up into a kiss.

Pam complied, her tongue drawing a hot trail back up her neck, across her jaw to her lips. But Kara had to break the kiss soon after to throw her head back at the pressure Pam was applying.

"Ivy…Ivy…Pam…Pammy…"

 _"_ _Shhh…" Harley soothed, gently carding her fingers through her hair. "It'll be OK, Pammy."_

 _The redhead tensed then, trying to pull away, but Harley only gripped her tighter._

 _"_ _No…" Harley cooed. "That's mine now. That's ours. He can't have it anymore. He can't have anything anymore." She placed a gentle kiss in Pam's red hair. "I love you, Pammy. You are loved. It wasn't your fault. You were never his. You are mine and you are yours. That's it."_

Pamela ripped her hand back immediately, stumbling off of Kara and off of the bed completely, backing up until her back hit the opposite wall.

Kara looked rightfully alarmed when she sat up. "Are you OK?" her voice carried with it extreme concern.

Pam shook her head. "No, I—no. It's not for you. You can't—no." Her shaking was almost violent now, her body trembling, back pressed against the wall. "It's a mistake. This was a mistake. I said I'd wait—I said I'd—you can't be here."

Guilt and confusion battled for dominance in Kara's expression. "You…want me to go?"

"Now!" Pam yelled, her heart hammering away in her chest.

Kara looked hurt, almost on the verge of tears as she rose from the bed, picking up her bra. "Pamela, I didn't…I'm so sorry, I'm not sure—whatever I did, I didn't mean it. Does this—does it have to do with your trauma?"

The genuine worry in Kara's voice made Pam's stomach hurt, the pity in her eyes…

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.

"Pam, it's OK," Kara approached her like she was about to wrap her up into a firm, comforting hug. "Jo told me. She was worried about you."

/

Jo held him tight, even as he slowed to a stop, his face still planted firmly in the crook of her neck.

"I can't do it. I can't."

"That's OK," she whispered, her hands running soothingly up and down his back. "It's OK."

"No, it's not. Nothing is OK."

"Can you look at me?"

"No."

She swallowed, feeling the pressure of tears mounting behind her eyes. "I understand."

His body trembled against her, her shoulder growing wet where his face was pressed. "I hate you. I hate you so much."

"I know that," she murmured, her fingers carding gently through his salt and pepper hair. "I do too."

Jo's phone rang on the nightstand, but neither she nor Damian moved to answer it. "I'm sorry," she whispered instead.

Though, after the second and third call, Damian did roll off of her, turning onto his side to face the wall.

With a sigh, she grabbed for her phone, the light from the screen painfully cutting through the otherwise dark bedroom.

 **Mom**

"Hello? Mom?"

 _"_ _Why would you do that?"_ it was obvious she'd been crying.

"I don't—Mom, it's 2am. What's the matter? What's going on?"

 _"_ _That wasn't yours to tell."_

Jo's stomach turned. _Goddamn it, Kara_. "Mom…I had a bad dream, I just wanted to make sure you were going to be alright."

 _"_ _How dare you."_

"Mom…" Jo sighed, trying a different approach. "It's not a secret anymore, remember? You told everybody. On live TV."

…the line was already dead.


	85. Chapter 85

Kara avoided Pam in the hallways now. Looked down at her feet when they passed. Left the locker room when Ivy entered…

Pam knew she'd hurt her. Knew she likely felt embarrassed. Pam did too, honestly. That's not how she'd wanted that night to end, not how she'd expected it to…but Pam had made a mistake. The guilt was pervasive, seeping into her every thought, every movement.

She'd cheated.

On Harley, on their life…

It was wrong, and she felt absolutely terrible.

Kara didn't smile as much, either, Pam noticed. Her gaze was often glassy, and even on missions she was distracted. Pamela supposed she could have been kinder to her. A lot kinder, actually. But she'd felt violated, plain and simple. And the look of pity Kara had given her…Pam just couldn't stomach it.

She hadn't spoken to Jo since, either. Two months without any communication other than a quick text exchange in which Jo asked how she was doing. "Fine," she'd told her, receiving only a heart emoji in return.

Now the guilt about that was beginning to overrun Pam as well. Her daughter had obviously been concerned about her. Pam was sure she'd the best intentions speaking to Kara…but it still felt like a betrayal. A significant one. And as much as Pam wanted to forgive her, it seemed impossible at the moment.

 _"_ _Call the daughter,"_ the Harley plant she kept in a pot near her bed encouraged, Kitty asleep on the pillow Pam wasn't occupying.

"I'm not ready."

 _"_ _It's been a long time since you've heard her voice…"_

Pam rolled her eyes with annoyance, reaching for her phone and typing a quick text message.

 **Let me know when you're free. I'd like to speak with you.**

Jo didn't reply, not that Pam expected her to. It was late, and Pam was sure Jo was unhappy with this prolonged silence as well.

 **Kara and I aren't seeing each other anymore.**

Again, no response.

Pam sighed, typing one more message before she pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes.

 **I hope you're well.**

/

 _"_ _I love you, Jolene…"_

 _She stared up at a green face, full, red lips smiling warmly._

 _Mommy…_

 _"_ _Your smile is like a breath of spring_ _/ Your voice is soft like summer rain / And I cannot compete with you / Jolene…"_

 _She watched Harley in wonder as she clapped and sang along to the music. "That's you, Baby!"_

 _Mama…_

 _She peaked nervously over his shoulder as he carefully applied the krazy glue, his blue eyes squinted behind his glasses, tongue held in concentration between his teeth._

 _"_ _I didn't mean ta break it, Tony. Honest."_

 _"_ _I know," he told her, pressing Batgirl's arm back into its socket. "You're little. Sometimes you break stuff. It's OK."_

 _Her medal bounced against her chest as she ran over to meet them. "Did she see it? Did she see me on top of the box?"_

 _Anthony scuffed his sneaker on the ground, Harley leaning down, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Mom got held up at work. But I videoed the whole thing," she assured her. "And she says she wants to hear all about it at home tonight."_

 _"_ _Oh," she nodded, her gaze falling to her medal. "Did you think I did a good job, though?"_

 _"_ _Only the best of the best get to stand at the top of the box, Baby."_

 _Bruce spoke to Ivy: "I see you're raising her in your image."_

 _"_ _We encourage a realistic sense of self," Pam assured him._

 _The man smirked and leaned down to speak to her once more. "And are you a gymnast too?"_

 _"_ _Pfft, yeah." she said like this was a fact that should have been obvious. "They moved me up two age groups at the gym."_

 _"_ _Good." Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Call me when you're ready."_

 _She was turning in the air. Flipping. Falling. Slamming onto the mat, her knees landing painfully. There were no words in her scream. Only sound. Frustration._

 _"_ _Go home, Jo."_

 _"_ _No!" her eyes shot up from the mat. "I'm not leaving before I land it."_

 _"_ _Jolene, practice ended an hour ago. I'd like to go home."_

 _"_ _It's too important," she muttered through clenched teeth, getting up and dusting the chalk from her knees. "I gotta land it."_

 _He sighed, crossing his arms. "You could trip over that vault tomorrow, fall flat on your face, and still be selected. You're a sure thing. But your head's not in it tonight. You're going to hurt yourself."_

 _"_ _Nothing is a sure thing!" she yelled, her anger echoing in the empty gym. "Ma thought she was, and she didn't even get to finish the trials! So don't tell me to expect anything I haven't earned yet. I'm going again."_

 _She double-knotted her sneakers, patting the laces for good measure._

 _"_ _I've got something for you."_

 _Her eyes rose, seeing the smile on his face before the envelope. "What is it?"_

 _"_ _You want to take a guess?"_

 _She could feel her stomach clench, feel her heart flutter. "Am…am I going?"_

 _He knelt down in front of her, placing the envelope in her hand. "I've been coaching for 15 years, Jolene. And I have never met a kid more deserving of this opportunity than you. You are the hardest working athlete I've ever known, and this right here?" he closed her hand around the envelope. "Is a privilege you absolutely earned. Blood, sweat, and tears, Kiddo. You're on your way."_

 _She felt the pressure of tears gathering behind her eyes. "Am I going?" she repeated, like that's all she could do. The only way she dared phrase it._

 _Squeezing her shoulder, he smiled through the tears gathering in his own eyes. "I can't wait to watch them hang that gold around your neck."_

 _A tear rolled down her cheek, her hands shaking as she gripped the envelope. "I hope Mom can get the time off," she whispered, her voice just as shaky as her hands._

 _He laughed. "That's what you're worried about?"_

 _"_ _I think Ma'll be real proud of me," she sniffed, raising a hand to wipe her eyes._

 _She recognized the make-up, the glitter on her cheeks, her hair pulled into a tight bun atop her head._

 _Her stare was brave at first, studying her own reflection. But the green of her eyes became steadily glossier with each passing moment, until the tears were rolling down her cheeks._

 _They'd let her keep the jacket, and the Team USA patch mocked her from where it was stitched to her breast._

 _She braced against the sink, crying silently, her shoulders trembling with heartache and fatigue._

 _"_ _You're such a fuckin' cry baby," she rubbed at her eye makeup with a cloth, removing it for the last time._

 _Her hands were clasped firmly around his waist as they sped through downtown, ignoring stop lights and yield signs._

 _"_ _Faster," she urged, head pressed to his shoulder, breathing in his scent—leather, sweat, and motor oil._

 _The room was dark, her bare knees were pulled to her chest, her body shivering from the draft blowing in from an undisclosed location._

 _He turned, his quiet snores now muffled into the pillow._

 _"_ _Are you disappointed too?" she murmured, enjoying the silence of his features, the rare opportunity to see him wearing something other than a scowl._

 _They'd meant to paint the kitchen._

 _Not red, though._

 _She grabbed the hoodie from the coatrack as instructed, pulling it on over her tank top, dipping her face just below the collar to wipe off the blood._

 _Pam's smile was faint, but reassuring._

 _"_ _Go."_

 _"_ _You're so full of shit," she whispered, pulling apart just slightly before looking up at him, a sly smile stretching her lips. "Holy denial, Batman."_

 _His eyes were wide—awestruck, almost, as she reached behind her back to clasp her bra, getting out of bed. "What are you looking at?"_

 _"_ _You," he seemed to say before he could think better of it._

 _"_ _I thought Batman didn't kill people!"_

 _"_ _That's true," she acknowledged. "Unfortunately for you, last time I checked, Batman didn't have tits. So, as you can see…you got stuck with the wrong Bat tonight. Now, how familiar are you with the femoral artery?"_

 _His form was bathed in the soft glow of early morning. Her hand trailed along his bare shoulder, fingers tracing up his neck, along his jaw…_

 _"_ _You're so beautiful," her voice was barely audible in the cavernous bedroom._

 _His lips twitched into a smile when her thumb paused at his chin, and she leaned forward to press a kiss against them._

 _The kiss was too gentle to wake him, but she smiled at how his face relaxed. When she turned over, she took his arm with her, wrapping it around her waist and pressing her back against him._

 _"_ _I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it," she whimsically spun around, ripping her beanie cap off of her head and tossing it at Harley, hitting her in the face._

 _"_ _Please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop," she begged, her palms pressed to her ears as they bawled. "Please!" she dropped to her knees between the cribs. "Please stop."_

 _Pam cupped her face in her hands. "Asking for help makes you a good Mother, not a bad one."_

 _"_ _Kids want 110% of your attention, 100% of the time," Harley explained, smiling when Terry wrapped his little hand around her finger, gripping as best he could._

 _"_ _Oh, is that all?" she mocked._

 _"_ _That's all!" Harley kissed her on the cheek. "It's worth it in the end. Believe me."_

 _She watched through the lens of a camera as Delilah wobbled on her feet, attempting to stumble forward into Damian's waiting arms._

 _"_ _Come on, I'm right here," he encouraged._

 _Just two more, and she was there, collapsing into his chest, where he immediately pulled her close, his smile wide and proud. "Did you get it?"_

 _"_ _Yeah, I—shit, I didn't press record."_

 _"_ _Jo!"_

 _"_ _We have two more!"_

 _"_ _We're getting a divorce."_

 _She stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the grand staircase, her blood instantly running cold._

 _"_ _Oh fuck," she breathed._

 _He was laying on the marble of the main floor, his position awkward…painful, broken._

 _"_ _Bruce!"_

 _"_ _You're a good mom, Jolene," Selina told her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "And I'd say, all in all, you turned out pretty alright."_

 _She laughed. "Uh, thanks, Kitty. I appreciate that."_

 _"_ _Of course," Selina smiled after her._

 _She sidestepped quickly, dodging Terry's kick and catching his fist in her hand._

 _"_ _You're telegraphing everything. Try a different combination every once in a while."_

 _He took her advice immediately, grabbing her wrist with his free hand, and using her extended position against her, twisting her arm at the right angle with just enough leverage to bring her to the ground._

 _She laughed at his celebration dance. "Good," she reached a hand up, and he helped her to her feet. "Now let's go again. Practice makes perfect."_

 _Daisy shrugged, filing her book back onto the shelf. "What's there to talk about?"_

 _"_ _Well…" she sat down on the bed. "To a lot of people, coming out is sort of a big deal. Does it…not feel like a big deal to you?"_

 _"_ _Why would it?" Daisy asked, still not looking at her, busying herself with whatever papers were on her desk. "Grandma and Nana are gay, Carrie and Courtney are gay. Doesn't seem like a big deal to anybody in this family."_

 _"_ _Sure," she acknowledged with a nod. "But you're not just anybody. You're you. Does it seem like a big deal to you?"_

 _Daisy sighed, sounding like she wished this conversation would end. "I don't know, Mom."_

 _She smiled, leaning back on the bed. "So…any crushes yet? There a special girl in your life?"_

 _"_ _No," Daisy insisted, though the color in her cheeks told a different story. "OK, yes," she admitted. "But it doesn't matter. She'll never like me back."_

 _Cocking her head, she asked: "Why not? I think you're a catch."_

 _Daisy seemed to grin despite herself, biting down on her lip, eyes still trained on her desk. "Yeah, well, you're my Mom, you have to say that."_

 _"_ _Mmm…yep, page 13 of the Mom Contract. Signed, dated, and sealed."_

 _Daisy rolled her eyes, though there was no hiding her affection. "She's straight."_

 _"_ _Bleh," she spat. "Straight girls are the worst."_

 _Harley nodded, using all her strength to pull her close and whisper: "you were just a kid. I forgave you a long time ago."_

 _"_ _You can't love someone as much as Ma did you without taking something. A piece of your heart, it's going with her on her next adventure."_

 _"_ _You don't—know that," Pam heaved, tremors wracking her body._

 _"_ _Yes, I do, Mom." She soothingly carded her fingers through Pam's hair. "I've never been more sure of anything. I promise."_

 _"_ _What kind of a name is Garth?" she asked, cradling the boy in her arms._

 _"_ _Maybe it's cool in Atlantis?"_

 _She chuckled at that, "he's cute, though," bowing her head to ghost her lips against the boy's forehead. "He looks like you."_

 _Damian grinned. "You think I'm cute?"_

 _It was all moving faster now. The images turning over on themselves, smiles folding in to tears, children into adults. She was at the stadium, waving at the camera, her picture projected on the jumbo screen, Damian's arm around her waist. She watched the four lucky girls walk out onto the floor. Grasped Courtney's hand, powerless against the tears gathering in her eyes as their wreaths were hung around their necks._

 _There was a warm hand on her cheek now. The skin rough, but comforting._

 _And she was done moving._

 _"_ _Thank you," she whispered. "For loving me."_

 _She laid still, staring up at the blank expanse of a ceiling. Gradually, her sight began to blur, warm light flooding into the corners of her vision until she was completely overtaken._

Pam awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed, her shirt damp with sweat, face wet from tears, and her entire body shaking.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as her eyes darted frantically around the darkened bedroom.

Pam had never had a dream quite like that. Her night terrors were always from the first person perspective. But that…she'd seen it all through Jo's eyes. Things she hadn't been party to.

It scared her. She wasn't sure what had happened, but something felt off. Pam didn't know if the problem was with her or something else, but there was an incessant ringing in her ears now that wouldn't shut off.

"Jo." She grabbed for her cellphone on the nightstand, quickly dialing her daughter.

The call did nothing but ring, eventually going to voicemail. _"You've reached Jolene Wayne, please don't leave a voicemail. It's 2075. We've moved passed that."_

It wasn't until Pam hung up that she saw the time. 3:43am.

She didn't keep those graveyard hours anymore.

 _She's been retired for 12 years now, Pamela. She's not going to wake up just to console you after a dream. She's not your Mother. You are hers._

That helped to loosen the knot in stomach, though she wasn't able to go back to sleep. She found the silence distressing. Her flowers weren't even chatting amongst themselves, let alone with her.

At 5am, her doorbell rang, and her heart leapt up into her throat in response.

Something was wrong.

 _You're on call_ , she reminded herself, pulling on a bathrobe and heading for the stairs. _Perhaps_ _aliens are attacking downtown Metropolis. Evil never sleeps_.

She stood for a moment in the foyer, her hand clenched around the door handle, feeling like her head was swimming as the ringing in her ears had dulled slightly.

Pam finally opened it after the doorbell rang again, finding Terry standing on her front porch, his bloodshot eyes and tear swollen face barely visible in the early morning light.

"Grandma," he began, swallowing, as his words sounded thick. "Can I come inside?"

Pam didn't answer, her eyes instead flitting to the envelope he had clutched in his left hand.

"Please," he said.

And Pam nodded mutely, unable to open her mouth, unable to do anything but step back from the door, allowing her grandson inside.

"I have something for you," he told her, once she'd shut the door behind him.

Again, her eyes fell to the envelope, the one he was now offering to her, but whatever was in there…she didn't want to see it. "No."

"Please," he repeated, his voice strained. Tired. Sad.

This time, Pam did as he asked, reluctantly holding out her hand, and taking the paper from him, staring down at it for a long moment before gingerly tearing the top.

She immediately recognized Jo's handwriting.

 _Mom,_

 _First off, let me just assure you that the paper you're holding in your hands was made from 100% recycled materials. Writing this letter did not—in any way, shape, or form—promote the genocide of innocent trees, so calm down because I know you instantly got a little pissed at me when Terry handed this to you._

 _Alright, now that that's (I hate it when I have to do that) out of the way, I need to tell you that if you're reading this, it means I'm dead. And yes, I am being serious. No, this not a cruel prank (even if I wish it was)._

 _A year ago I was diagnosed pancreatic cancer. I know, right? Cancer. How ironic…or serendipitous(?), I don't know. I never was an English nerd. Either way, I kind've wish someone would have warned me about what a bitch karma can be._

 _In case you weren't aware, pancreatic cancer is pretty well known for being the fastest spreading cancer with the worst survival rate, and being 62 I felt like I was doomed from the start—even with my immunities and regenerative capabilities. So I decided not to fight it. Yep, weak, right? I spent my whole life fighting and then I just gave up. Why? That's a good question. Probably because I felt the need to punish myself, to repent some of the decisions I made when I was younger because, really, I never actually regretted any one decision I made, and clearly, that's a problem._

 _So I decided to die, and I decided not to tell you because it hurt me, seeing that fear in your eyes when you saw Ma like that. Weak and dying. Not the Harley you knew, but her living ghost. And maybe that was therapeutic, but I saw how difficult it was for you to feel so powerless. So I went with the Band-Aid approach instead. I ripped it off, and yeah, it tore up some hair, maybe some skin…but you're a masochist, Mom, and I decided not to support that._

 _I've got a few things to say to you—important things—so, even though I'm sure you're upset right now, please pay attention._

 _1)_ _I love you. Seriously. With all my heart, I love you, Mom. And I always have. Every day of my life. Even when I "hated" you, every emotion I ever expressed came from a foundation of love. A foundation that you and Ma built for me. So thank you for that because it's what got me through every moment of imperfection. Even this year. Just because you weren't physically at my bedside doesn't mean you weren't with me. You were always with me, and wherever I am now, I'm sure you still are._

 _2)_ _You were a good Mom. A great Mom, even. Especially for a former supervillain-turned-superhero who married her therapist. I know a lot of your identity is built on being the best…on being perfect…but what I learned in my relatively brief time on this planet is that you don't have to be perfect to be great, and not everything that's perfect is great. I also know that, in parenting us, you made a lot of decisions based on the inverse of what your Mother would have done, but I want to tell you that just about every parenting decision I ever made started with "what did Mom do? I should do that." Of course, I made some exceptions, but all in all, my kids were raised in the spirit of how you raised me, so if you like how any of them turned out, you can definitely take credit. You deserve it. You and Ma._

 _3)_ _OK, this one's about you. It's really just some friendly advice, but it would be awesome if you'd listen._

 _I think you're in love with Kara._

 _There. I said it. I think you're in love with Kara Danvers and I think you're scared, and I think you're hesitant because of what you promised Ma. I know you said you'd wait for her, but Mom…did you ever think maybe she's already here? What Ma represented to you, what she was to you…I think Kara has it in her. I do. And even though it's hard to let go of someone who saved you the way Ma did, maybe it's time you save yourself. Maybe it's time you test all the hard work Ma put into you. All the times she held you through your triggers, all the lessons on how to work through your problems when your emotions are clouding your heart and your head…maybe it's time to take the wings Ma helped you make and actually use them. Take a leap. Do it for you, do it for Ma, do it for me—I don't care, but what's the point of having wings if you just shut them in the garage to collect dust? Don't put your walls up again, Mom. Please. Otherwise everything Ma did for you was a waste. The world deserves to know Pamela Isley._

 _This next part will be in all capitals because I want you to know I'm mentally screaming it as I write it: LET KARA LOVE YOU. YOU DESERVE LOVE. YOU DESERVE HAPPINESS. YOU ARE A GOOD PERSON. A PERSON GOOD ENOUGH FOR KARA, WHICH SEEMS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE. DO NOT RESIGN YOURSELF TO SUFFERING._

 _Don't let another life be taken away from you. Let Pamela breathe._

 _4)_ _This one's about me again._

 _Well, really, it's about Damian._

 _He's very angry with me right now, has been since my diagnosis. He didn't understand why I would turn down treatment being that we have more money than God—or Zeus, I guess. He called me selfish, which I totally understand. Really. To a certain degree, I am being selfish, I acknowledge that. But although I love my husband and would die for him in a heartbeat, I decided to die for me instead._

 _But fun fact about Damian Wayne: like you, once you get past that prickly exterior, he just wants to love and be loved. And he loved me—a lot. And I loved him right back, with every atom that made up my twisted heart…and now I've taken that away from him and I know he's hurting._

 _So be good to him, please. Encourage Terry, Delilah and Daisy to be good to him too. Give him a hug maybe, or—I don't know—buy him a bottle of whiskey and sit there with him while he drinks it, it's up to you, just as long as you're there for him._

The first line of the next paragraph was smudged by what Pam guessed was a tear.

 _It was great being your trial run, Mom. I was proud to be your daughter, just as I'm sure the next one will be. I hope the foundation of love Anthony, Ma and I built you in return helps you as you move forward. I think—out of all my accomplishments—that's the one I'm proudest of: my contribution to Pamela Isley's ongoing scientific study of life on this planet. Put me in a specimen jar, file me up on the shelf…take me down when you need to, unpack me if you feel like it, but keep moving forward. Always._

 _Love,_

 _Your daughter, your prettiest science experiment,_

 _Jolene Isley Quinzel_

Pamela's jaw shook, the paper crinkling in her hands. She turned it over to see if there was more, but that was it. That was all there was. That was all there would ever be.

"No." Pam shook her head. "No. This isn't…she doesn't get to _do_ this. she doesn't get to…not like this. No!" tears fell angrily down her cheeks. "No! that's my baby! No!"

Her head was shaking violently now, and she threw the letter on the ground, stomping on it. "That stupid, _stupid_ girl! That c—that coward!"

Terrence took a step towards her, tears gathering once more in his bloodshot eyes, but Pam pushed him away. Backwards, with all her might, she pushed him. But he was strong and he stood firm, allowing her fists to land over and over again against his chest.

"Grandma," he whispered. "Please, it wasn't up to us."

Pam sobbed harder, her shaking shoulders making it difficult to continue her assault. Terry saw his opportunity and pushed forward, wrapping her up into a hug. Holding her as she shook, her tears falling heavily onto the shoulder of his black t-shirt.

"Grandma, I'm so sorry…"

 ** _In loving memory of_**

 ** _Jolene I. Wayne_**

 ** _Daughter, Sister, Wife, Mother_**

 ** _2013-2075_**

 ** _"Nothing in life is guaranteed."_**


	86. Chapter 86

Poison Ivy attended Jolene's funeral, just like she had her wedding. She even came dressed in the same suit. Jo had never really liked black anyway. She was a colorful person who liked colorful clothes.

Ivy sat off to the side, propped up against Selina's gravestone, her head leaning back, watching the sky rather than the ceremony.

Anthony sang a tearful _Hallelujah_ , Daisy was notably absent, and Damian never looked up from the ground. He'd lost weight, Pam noticed, his suit appearing a bit baggy in the shoulders. He didn't speak, didn't cry, didn't acknowledge anyone, for the entirety of the ceremony, and then he headed back up towards the house as soon as the casket was lowered into the ground. He didn't even wait to throw his handful of dirt—just shoved his hands in his pocket and sulked away.

"Are you ready to go?" Anthony murmured sometime later, after most of the other guests had left.

"No," Ivy responded, not lowering her gaze to meet his.

"That's fine," he told her, his voice sounding broken. "I'm going to catch up with Damian."

Pam nodded in a silent response, hearing his footsteps retreat back up the path to the main house.

Finally, when she thought she was alone, Ivy dropped her eyes from the sky to the freshly disturbed dirt covering her daughter's grave…only to find Carrie was still kneeling beside it.

After a deep sigh, Ivy slowly rose to her feet, approaching the grave. Carrie didn't react or flinch at her arrival, just continued picking up handfuls of wet dirt, squeezing it in her palm, and setting it back down, over and over again.

"Did you know?" Ivy asked, interrupting the peaceful silence.

It took a moment for Carrie to answer, but when she did, her voice was quiet. "It was the only favor she ever asked of me. That I keep it from you."

Pam looked down at the woman where she knelt, her short hair having gone gray some time ago. Just like Selina's had…just like Anthony's. "You were in love with her, weren't you?" the question was rhetorical.

Carrie wiped her eyes on her sleeve, sniffing as she did. "What does it matter?"

"What was she to you?" Pam asked, not answering her question. "What was she…like, with you?"

Swallowing, Carrie pat her hand down on the dirt. "She was, um, she was the bravest person I ever knew. And she—she had the biggest heart, too, she just—she sometimes had a hard time with that. Feeling vulnerable was…scary…so she made jokes. Made a lot of jokes. But…" she sniffed. "But I know she always tried her hardest."

"And what was she to you?"

Carrie picked up another handful of dirt. "She was my best friend in the world."

Ivy closed her eyes, listening to the wind whistling through the trees. "Thank you, Caroline," she murmured, resting a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss."

/

Anthony stayed with his Mother for a week, crying himself to sleep most nights, the two of them sharing the guest room. Though Pamela didn't cry. She mostly just stared, quietly, off into space, sometimes like she was thinking deep thoughts, and others like she wasn't really there at all.

There were things that he'd wanted to say to his sister. Things he wanted to discuss…every day, he'd come up with a new topic, picking up his phone like an idiot, like she was still only a phone call away…so he'd call her voicemail instead, just to hear her voice.

 _"You've reached Jolene Wayne, please don't leave a voicemail. It's 2075. We've moved passed that."_

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he whispered after the beep. "You didn't—," he fought to hold back tears. "You didn't have to go at everything alone, Jo. I would have been here. You were worth fighting for."

Daisy had delivered him a letter when he'd arrived back in Gotham. It was from Jo, written in her somehow always rushed cursive. Full of thank you's and apologies, mostly. She didn't talk much about herself, other than to say she was sorry she had to keep her illness from him. _I didn't want you to have to keep it from Mom._

Jolene…the keeper of secrets.

She kept something from everybody, always for their own protection. It was just a side effect of her powers—she always knew more than she was supposed to.

Anthony knew the burden that placed on her. Knew that most of his sister's actions were rooted in reaction. She was a coping mechanism come to life. The result of having to deal with the most blatantly horrific realities of the world before she could even fully understand them.

It had taken him some time—most of his life, actually—to even attempt an understanding of what it was to be Jolene Quinzel…Jolene Wayne…Hellbat…

And Anthony had finally come to the conclusion that she'd done her very best with what she was given. Did her very best to shoulder her burden—Pamela's dreams of the past, Harleen's dreams of the future…Damian's darkness and her children's needs…all while trying to continue existing on her own.

Anthony no longer envied her. But he did miss her. Missed her so much it hurt.

Every day of that week he stayed in Gotham, he would find a new potted flower on his Mother's porch. From Kara, he knew that for a fact, even though she never left a note. The flowers told him. And he knew his Mother was aware as well. Even still…the gifts didn't garner much of a reaction from her.

They didn't speak about it. About Kara, or even about Jo for the first 5 days. The only words he could remember Pam uttering was her quiet request that they share the guest bedroom. She fell asleep with her head on his chest, that night, and every other night before his plane took off back to San Francisco.

But on the 5th day, Anthony joined her at the kitchen table, where she was absently starring out the window at her garden. He, Jo, Barbara and Dick had done much the same thing 22 years ago, watching Pam tend to her garden after Harley died.

"Anthony," she surprised him by breaking the silence. "What was she to you?"

 _Jo?_ Puzzled, he responded: "She was my sister, Mom. You know that."

She nodded, still not looking at him. "After your Mother died, your Sister told me that a person is something different to everyone. She was my daughter, that was the only way I ever allowed myself to see her. But now…now I'd like to know what she was to you."

"Mm," he mulled the question over for all its complexities. "She was a lot of things to me. She was…a teammate, an ally, a companion…a nuisance," he smiled a bit at that. "But most of all, she was my baby sister. And…perhaps she didn't always make it easy, but I loved her. A lot. And, um," she swallowed back tears. "I think the world has lost a lot of color since she and Ma moved on."

/

He was unshaven, that was the first thing Pam noticed when Damian opened the door.

He was unshaven and his shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his bare chest, and his trousers were wrinkled. Almost 70 years old and Damian Wayne still looked like a child to Pamela. Not his body—that had aged just like everyone else's, though he did take considerably better care of himself than most. But his eyes…his hazel eyes…still belonged to that boy who wouldn't take a slice of cake from her on the grounds that he was no longer a child. But he had been, and he was. A little boy trapped in a man's body, same as Pamela was an old woman trapped in the body of a woman who should just be figuring things out.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice like he hadn't spoken to anyone in some time. A month, that was how long it had taken Pam to come here. To honor her daughter's last request. Well…one of the two, at least.

Pam held up the bottle of whiskey in her hand. "I thought you could use it."

Damian looked at Pam, and then the bottle, and back again, his eyes moving slowly, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I wasn't expecting company."

"That's fine," Pam excused his disheveled appearance. "Really, just…may I come in?"

There was still noticeable hesitation in his movements as he opened the door wider for her, granting her access, though he continued to obstruct her path for another few moments, before finally relinquishing his grip and allowing her past him.

The house was…a mess. But Pamela realized that if she felt her house grew bigger when Harley passed…Wayne Manor must feel cavernous to Damian.

Pamela waited until they'd entered the parlor and he'd poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle she'd brought to speak. "How have your children been handling it all?" she didn't want to ask about him just yet, as it was obvious from his appearance and the state of the house that the answer was "not well".

Damian stood by the bar, his glass trembling in his hand as he watched her. "They are 4 years younger than Jo was when Harley died," he told her, rather than answering her question. "3 years younger than I was when my parents died." He let a brief silence descend before continuing. "Why are you here, Pamela? I can buy my own alcohol. Especially now that your daughter isn't—isn't sapping my bank account anymore." He had to turn around mid-sentence, pretending like he'd done it to grab a few ice cubes for his drink, but Pam suspected it might have had more to do with the break in his voice.

"I have some questions for you," Pam told him.

He leaned against the bar, still facing away from her. "Have at it."

The redhead pursed her lips. "How sick was she? The night Kara and I came over."

Damian cleared his throat. "She woke up around 6pm from a nightmare…called Anthony…then said she'd had a nightmare _last night_. Went straight to bed after you guys left…woke up a few hours later and asked me to…to touch her. But she—,"

"I understand," Pam saved him from further explanation. "She was too weak to reciprocate." He didn't speak again, so she moved on. "And when I called her that night…what happened after I hung up?"

Damian sniffed, taking a swig of his whiskey as he turned around, sitting down in one of the plush arm chairs, his posture lacking. "She cried. Mostly, she just cried. She knew about what Harley did to you in the car that night. Knew about a lot of things, actually."

Pam swallowed.

"Her dreams got worse after Harley died," he muttered, staring down into his glass. "She didn't even like to sleep, really. I'd have to wake her up because she'd be crying so hard. Crying and sweating and yelling…towards the end she said she could actually _feel_ herself there, in your skin, not just see it…." He trailed off for a moment. "She pretended like she could tell the difference between your world and her reality, but the number of times she woke up thinking she was you prove that she was a fucking liar."

Pam's chest felt tight, thick with the unmistakable weight of grief and guilt.

"We saw your texts on her last night," Damian admitted, rubbing his eye, his glass still clenched in his hand. "She—she told me to reply that she was truly sorry for all the pain and grief she caused you." He shook his head. "But I didn't send it. I was done with her apologizing. Told her I did…she died thinking I did…but I didn't."

Pam took a shaky breath, tears beginning to mount behind her eyes. "Did she die here?"

"In the bedroom," he answered with a subdued nod.

"Can you show me?" Pam whispered.

Damian obliged her, his pace labored as he navigated the first level towards the stairs, ascending them with noticeable depression, his shoulders seeming to grow heavier with each step.

"There," he nodded, motioning with his glass from where he stood in the bedroom's open doorway, his feet pointedly not crossing the threshold.

"May I…"

"I don't care."

Pam made her way slowly inside—cautiously, reverently…the king size bed was unmade, and from Damian's body language in the doorway, Pam guessed he hadn't slept in here since. The bed was how Jo had left it.

She traced a hand over the thick comforter…the soft sheets…it was all very luxurious. A deathbed fit for a queen. And since the Wayne's ruled Gotham City, "queen" was a fitting position for The Mrs. _Mrs. Wayne_ …she sure did love throwing that around.

"Not that side," Damian snapped as Pam went to lay down—she just wanted to see the view. But just as Kara had understood Pam not wanting her in she and Harley's bed, Pam understood why Damian wouldn't want her laying on Jo's side.

So she chose his instead, laying her head down on the pillow and gazing up at the ceiling. Yes, this was it. Her dream that night…it hadn't been a dream at all. She'd seen Jo's life flash before her eyes, and looking at this ceiling now…it seemed Pam had been with her, seeing through her like she would any plant in her garden as the life drained from her body.

Pam raised a hand to cup her own cheek, asking "Were you here for her?" although she already knew the answer. He'd been right beside her.

"I almost left," he mumbled, picking at the wood of the doorframe. "She told me I could, if I wanted to. But, um," he rubbed at his eye again. "But that's how I knew I had to stay. She said it would be easier to die alone anyway…but I," he sniffed. "I couldn't leave her."

"She thanked you," Pam said, without removing her gaze from the ceiling. "Was that the last thing she said?"

"No," he stopped picking at the doorframe. "No, the last thing she said was 'maybe Ma will have her legs back'."

Pamela felt the first tear trickle down her cheek. "And before that?"

"Um, Courtney brought her silver medal and hung it around Jo's neck…and she was pretty weak and confused, but she—," Damian had to stop to clear his throat. "She started crying, trying to get it off of her, saying she cheated…and, um, I don't, uh," again, he had to take a moment. "I don't know what Courtney whispered to her, but whatever it was, Jo…she held the thing in her hand and said that she'd wanted to be good at 'this', not hurting people."

Pam braved a glance, and found that Damian was resting his forehead against the doorframe now.

"She was wearing the medal when we buried her…" he said, his eyes closed. "Courtney said it was the least she could do. I don't know anything about the afterlife, but I figure a person that…grand, can't be contained to just 62 years, so I…I figured maybe she could show the medal off to Harley when she sees her."

Tears were falling heavily down Pam's cheeks as she sat up. He was right. 62 years wasn't long at all. Jo had only lived for 6 years longer than Pam and Harley's marriage. Jo hadn't even made it to the age Pam was when she met Harley. And yet, every person Pam had spoken to in this last month had told her of the profound effect Jo had had on their life. Meanwhile, Pam had called Jo 'small'. Discredited and belittled her experience and her decisions because it wasn't what she'd imagined for her.

But there had been nothing small about Jo's life, it turned out. And the realization that this being Pam had created had changed people, from her friends and family, to cancer patients or the girls at her gym…Jolene _had_ mattered, and she'd managed it all in only 62 years.

 _She burned too bright_.

"Damian, what was she to you?"

He was crying too, that much was obvious, but still, he tried to hide his face behind his hand when he said, "She was the love of my life, and she abandoned me just like everyone else. Just like—," he wiped fruitlessly at his eyes. "Just like my Father, just like my Mother, just like my—Talia. She was my best friend, and my partner, and she left me. She said she never would. Mom told me Jo would always be there for me when I woke up, but…she gave up. Just like everybody else."

As her eyes wandered from his shaking form, Pam found that, on the nightstand on his side of the bed was a framed picture from he and Jo's wedding. Pam had to wipe her eyes before she could really look at it, but it seemed to have been taken during their first dance. Jo's head was thrown back in a laugh, and Damian was smiling down at her…charmed…enamored…happy. Happy and completely smitten.

And that's when something clicked for Pam. Something that she was sure she should have appreciated some time ago. "Oh, Honey…" she stood from the bed. "You really loved her."

Damian looked up, bleary eyed and confused as Pam closed the space between them, her arms wrapping around his back, pulling him flush against her in a warm embrace.

His body was stiff at first, and she could feel his heart beating in his chest, the tremors of his silent crying vibrating through his body. But slowly, as she placed her hand on the back of his head and encouraged him to rest it on her shoulder, his body melted into hers and he let out his first audible sob.

"You're a good man, aren't you," she murmured through tears of her own. "You were good to her. Damian, you were in so many of her memories…so much of her life—the parts she remembered, the parts she wanted to…you were there. You were it."

"I want it back," his words were muffled into Pam's neck, his tears soaking through the collar of her sweater. "I want her back. I don't want to be alone."

"I know, Sweetheart," Pam soothed as best she could while battling her own grief. "I know."

/

Pam clutched her cellphone in her hand as she climbed back into her car, buckling her seatbelt prematurely.

She didn't move after that, not for a long while. Just stared blankly ahead, feeling dehydrated. Wrung out. She'd been waiting to cry for a long time, and once it came, stopping just wasn't an option.

It was dark outside now, and Pam felt rightly disoriented. She and Damian had taken a nap at some point in the afternoon, Damian hugging Jo's pillow close to him while Pam slept on Damian's. They'd both lost track of time, and now it was nearing 11pm. She'd arrived at Wayne Manor at noon.

Eventually, Pam's gaze drifted to her cellphone, and after a deep breath, she dialed her #3 speed dial.

 _"You've reached Jolene Wayne, please don't leave a voicemail. It's 2075. We've moved passed that."_

If she had any tears left to cry, the sound of her daughter's voice would have triggered them.

"Hi, Jo," she began, her face pressed to the receiver. "I just…I wanted to tell you that I read your letter. And…I went and saw Damian, like you asked me to. He's very sad, and…lonely. He's lonely. I was thinking I'd call your kids tomorrow to make sure they come and see him—I know Delilah practically lives there, but no one's really spoken to Daisy since you left, and Terry…I know it's a long trip, but Damian needs him."

She took a heavy, shaking breath. "I've learned a lot about you in the short time you've been gone. I never could get inside your head in the way you could mine, and—Baby, I'm so sorry about that. When you were—I don't know if you remember—but we had a big fight when you turned 18. You were packing up your room to move in with Jason, and I asked you—no, actually, I yelled at you—why you were so mad at me. Why you hated me so much. And you said it was because it was all about me, and never about you. That everything was always about me." Pam closed her eyes. "I'm sorry that it took me until you died to realize why you felt that way. I'm so sorry that you had to see those things. That you weren't able to be a kid because your mind was crowded with images of…of rape and torture and anger and murder. I know you got to see some good stuff too—but there's nothing that could have erased that other stuff. I know that. I know, better than anyone, how the bad stuff can stick with you."

Pam rested her head against the cold glass of her window. "You were more than a trial run, Jolene. You were more than just a scientific achievement. You were my daughter and I loved you—still love you, more than I was ever able to express. And I'm so glad you found happiness. I'm so glad you found someone that loved you and understood you the way Damian did. And I am so proud of you, Jolene. So proud of your heart, and your intelligence, and your skill. I am proud of the life you made for yourself. I am so proud of you as a mother, and so proud of you as a wife. As a human being. I am every bit as proud to call you my daughter as you were to call me your Mother. I promise you that."

The phone gave her a 10 second warning, so she knew she had to hurry through the last part. "And I'll use my wings, Baby. You have my word on that. I love you, Jolene, and I always will."


	87. Chapter 87

Ivy turned around in her chair just as he flicked the light on.

"Oh, God!" Duke clutched at his chest. "You trying to give me a heart attack, Grandma?"

"That was not my intention, no."

"Then why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Oh, umm…I'm conserving energy."

Duke's eyes narrowed critically. "You couldn't figure out the light switch, could you."

Ivy cleared her throat. "That was certainly a factor."

"You twist, then press," Duke told her. "Just so you know…for the future…so this doesn't happen again."

"Since when do light switches—nevermind," she cut herself off, standing up. "Listen, I need something from you. A favor."

Duke set his bag down on the leather chair he had facing his desk. "Sure. Happy to help. What do you need? Is this for The League?"

"Oh, no," Pam sounded apologetic, and quickly paled her skin, reaching into her purse to retrieve her glasses. "Sorry, this is a personal matter."

"Sounds awfully formal," Duke remarked, crossing the room to the chair behind his desk. The one his Grandmother had just abandoned. "What do you need?"

"To find your cousin."

"Daisy?" Duke guessed, though he knew the answer without the question. "Something tells me she doesn't want to be found."

"I'm sure you're right," Pam granted. "But I'm not sure why you say it like you assume I care."

Duke laughed. "Well, alright. It's your funeral."

"No, it was her Mother's funeral, and she chose not to attend," Pam corrected.

/

It took a little longer to track her down than Pam had anticipated, even with she and Duke pooling their resources.

Daisy had evidently made the extra effort to establish a shell corporation so none of her Wildcat properties showed up on any official list of 'Daisy Mae Wayne's' holdings, investments, or assets. It was impressive, if not extremely inconvenient for someone trying to track her down.

But it happened eventually, and once the search area was nailed down, Ivy asked The Green for a confirmation on her granddaughter's location. And even after that, it was still a 30-minute ride by flyer. Needless to say, Pam was pretty much done before she even arrived.

It was really more of a warehouse than anything, Pam noted as she knocked on the door. One of Daisy's motorcycles was in the garage, Pam could see that from the dirt path that led to the large sliding doors. The plants even told her Daisy was inside, so either she hadn't heard, or she just didn't care to answer.

Pam knocked again, with a bit more force this time. She'd dedicated her entire night to this endeavor, she wasn't planning to turn back around. "Daisy Mae, it's your Grandmother."

"Don't call me that," the voice came from inside.

Pam sighed. "Daisy, will you open the door? I'd like to speak with you."

"No," Daisy answered plainly…and that was officially the last straw.

Two tree roots sprung up from the ground, wrapping around the door handles and wrenching them apart. Pam waited patiently, listening to the locks on the other side of the door bending and cracking.

The redhead stepped inside, and was greeted by a chorus of curse words.

"Are you serious?" Daisy demanded from her place curled up on the oddly expensive looking couch (given the ambiance). "No means no, Grandma—fuck, I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

"Doesn't apply in this context," Pam remarked distractedly as she took a look around.

It was really more of a lab, she realized. It actually reminded her of the hideouts she kept before she met Harley. The ground was cold concrete, workbenches stretched nearly the width of the space, piled neatly with state of the art equipment, and the shelves were lined with jarred and potted plant specimen.

"What's…going on here, Daisy?" Pam asked as she continued to take in her surroundings.

"Meth," was Daisy's quick explanation. "I'm cooking meth. It's making a comeback."

"Meth in gelatin capsules?" Pam raised an eyebrow as she took a mental inventory of the supplies. "Daisy," she stopped cold when her eyes passed over the label of an isolated vial. "You're not manufacturing Slappers, are you?"

Daisy scoffed. "Yeah, why don't I just go ahead and spit on my Mom's grave. No, Grandma," Daisy finally pulled herself to her feet. "It's pain medication."

Pam cautiously crossed over to the vial labeled "Venom", carefully picking it up to hold the green liquid to the light. "Who would need venom in their pain medication?"

"Mom, obviously," Daisy answered like that was a stupid question, snatching the vial away from her. "Pain meds didn't work for the same reason alcohol didn't. Venom was the only substance strong enough to actually have an effect on her. Worked on the formula for three months…" she set it back down in its sheath. "Naturally, she died before I could finish it. Lived for a goddamn year with pancreatic cancer and absolutely no relief. Then, as soon as I have the answer, she dies."

Pam looked down at the completed green capsules. "I'm not sure she would have taken it even if you _had_ finished it in time. There was no substance on this earth she despised more."

Daisy laughed. "I like how you think I'd tell her what was in it. Such a high opinion you hold of me, Grandma."

"I always thought you would be a scientist," Pam absently remarked, squeezing a capsule between her fingers. "You know what the terrible irony of this entire situation is? Much of my thesis back in 1966 was focused on the effects of plant-animal hybridization on cancer cells. As I am now a plant-animal hybrid, and completely impervious to disease, I suppose my research was on target. So if I'd been allowed to follow my intended career path…"

"You could have cured Mom's cancer," Daisy finished for her. "But you becoming a hybrid was what halted your career, and without your plant DNA, and your time spent in Arkham Asylum, Mom never would have existed in the first place."

"Yes…" Pam acknowledged, running her finger along the metal of the microscope in front of her.

"So, long story short, everything happens for a reason, right? Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference, etc etc. Good talk, Grandma. Thanks for stopping by."

Pam pursed her lips, swallowing as she finally set the capsule back where it belonged and raised her eyes. "That night Kara and I saw you at The Iceberg…how recently had she been diagnosed?"

"Two months," Daisy answered, intently studying her fingernails like Jo used to do. "She was just happy she got The Trials in time. Another four years would have been too late."

"I suppose that explains some of your behavior that night," Pam recognized.

"There's nothing to explain."

"Daisy, I was married to a psychiatrist for—,"

"Nana's been dead a long time. I think you got a little rusty."

Pam had to take a moment, as she knew any immediate response would come out angry. She didn't want to be angry anymore. Not with her family. Not with Daisy. Her granddaughter was grieving and upset, that was easy to see. Seemed her coping mechanism was similar to Pam's—avoid, isolate, and bury your head in work. Pam knew more than anyone how destructive this cycle could be. And no matter how many women Daisy slept with in a given week, she knew loneliness when she saw it…and Daisy was lonely.

"I'll never know what it is to lose a mother," Pam finally spoke up. "Friends, and daughters, and wives, yes…but I took my Mother's life from her, and I did it with a smile on my face. I never got to experience someone being there for me, witnessing my every failure and accomplishment, rooting me on from the sidelines with absolute, unwavering, unconditional love and support. I wasn't born with a support system, I collected one. And so, while I don't know how it feels to have my foundation ripped out, gutted…I do know what it is to feel untethered. For a long time, I believed Harleen was the only reason I'd ever want to be human. And then I met your Uncle Anthony, and your Mother, and all of you…and I got to see the world through their eyes for the first time. The wonder in their expressions as they came to understand what it meant to be human."

Daisy had slowly raised her eyes.

"When your Nana died, I had to find other people to lean on. Other people to tether me. To help keep my feet on the ground." Pam wet her lips. "I'm glad you've made peace with yourself, Daisy. I'm glad that you understand what you need, and how you operate. But, Sweetheart, from one Suffering Sappho to another…I have to tell you that I think you're a bit of a coward. And look, I understand why," Pam assured before Daisy could stop her. "We're conditioned to believe we don't deserve happiness. That those who achieve it will eventually end up broken. But it's bullshit, Daisy. It's all bullshit. I was 64 years old when I first laid eyes on the love of my life—from the inside of a prison cell, no less. And somewhere along the line, I decided to stop making myself miserable. To step out of my comfort zone. To embrace the outside world for all its injustices, and you know what? It's 78 years later, my wife is dead, my daughter is dead, I've been bruised, knocked down, had my heart broken a million times over…but it was worth it. Every memory I have, each one I hold dear…it's worth it. They were worth it."

Daisy sniffed, wiping her eye.

"I can guarantee you your Father would tell you the same thing. It's worth it." Pam assured her again, moving to rest her hands on Daisy's shoulders. "Families, mothers…they plant you in the ground. They nurture you as your delicate leaves fight to break through the soil. But the decision to reach for the sun? That's yours, and yours alone. I think it's time now, Daisy. Time you reached. You are a talented thief with a brilliant mind, but not everything in life is intended to be experienced with your head. At a certain point, you have to start using your heart. That's where all the good stuff happens, anyway."

Daisy swallowed. "Yeah, ok, fine. That's a pretty good speech, Grandma, but it's not like you're doing much better. I know you threw the thing with Kara away, and I'd be willing to bet it was because you were scared."

"I did, and you're right." Pam acknowledged. "And I'm going to try my best to fix that. Bruce always said everyone deserves a second chance. My hope is that Kara is just as charitable. But I might need some help."

/

Supergirl was on her 3rd leisurely lap around National City that night. Crime just wasn't biting. Evidently, every unlawful citizen had decided to take the collective night off.

Kara hated that. She shouldn't, she knew she shouldn't, but she did. Slow nights weren't so bad when she had Lena…she loved her job, she loved being Supergirl, but she remembered always wanting to get home faster. Get home and crawl in bed beside her. Inhale deeply through her nose and wrap her arms around her. Or, when Lena was working late, she'd check in on her at the office. Bring her a coffee or a donut if she needed it, steal a quick kiss on the balcony…

And when she was with—well, when Pam was—when they were…kissing and going to dinner together, Kara thrived on slow nights. They lived on opposite sides of the country, after all, slow nights were really their only chance to spend time together outside of work.

But now that she had nobody, slow nights left Kara alone with her thoughts. Sad thoughts, mad thoughts…all kinds. Thoughts she didn't want to think. But for all Supergirl's power, she was powerless against her wandering mind. And wander it did. Always. Back to times when she was happier. Back to when her heart felt full.

Kara's eyes lit up at the sound of glass breaking somewhere downtown. "Thank goodness!" she exclaimed excitedly, speeding off in that direction.

As she neared the city center, she was able to triangulate the sound to a jewelry store near Luthor Park (Kara had decided after Lena died that the name needed some good attached to it). By the time she arrived, the thief (clad in all black, a hood over her head, and goggles covering her eyes) was already on the roof, and moving quickly. Not super human fast, but fast enough that Kara had to work on her timing.

With a little burst of speed, Supergirl swooped down, though she came up empty when, at the last possible second, the thief dropped down into a roll.

"Sorry!" the woman called over her shoulder when Kara slammed into the brick wall, unable to stop her momentum—it was a woman, and her voice sounded familiar. Kara quickly got back up into the air, following the thief as she dropped down off the building, bounding onto the dumpster first and then heading into the park.

"I have x-ray vision, you know!" Supergirl called after her. "You can run, but you can't hide!"

"Come find me, then!" the woman laughed, darting between the trees.

Kara supposed this was more fun than her alternate plan for the night, so she humored her, weaving through the woods until she finally had the woman by her collar, using it to lift her a few feet into the air.

"I—forgot—what it felt like—to get caught," she chuckled, though her air supply was limited, her feet kicking aimlessly in the air.

…and now Kara was sure she knew who it was, so she pulled the woman's goggles off, finding Daisy Wayne beneath, just like she'd guessed.

"Daisy, what are you doing here?!" Kara demanded, releasing her grip and letting the thief drop to the ground. "I know that you guys have an agreement in Gotham, or whatever, but this isn't going to fly in National City."

"I'm acting out. My Mom just died," Daisy innocently reasoned.

Kara shook her head. "Well, I'm sorry about that," and turned her around, pulling the small bag off of her back. "But that's no excuse to break the law. Now what did you take?" she unzipped the bag, reaching her hand inside and pulling out…chocolate?

Bewildered, Kara looked back at Daisy to see the younger woman grinning. "Happy Valentine's Day, Kara," Daisy told her, nodding over Kara's shoulder. "You kids have fun."

Daisy sprinted deeper into the park as soon as Kara turned her head…finding a leotard-clad Poison Ivy leaning against the trunk of a thick tree just inside the clearing.

"You, what are you—why are you here?" Kara stammered.

"To apologize, mostly," Ivy admitted, pushing off of the tree and walking slowly towards her. Slowly like she'd let Kara fly away if she wanted to. "To talk. To tell you I missed you, and to thank you for the flowers you sent."

"You—you brought Daisy all the way here, had her break a window, and had me chase her just so that you could apologize?" Kara was reasonably appalled.

Ivy narrowed her green eyes like she was reviewing her actions. "I've been told I can be a touch dramatic— _extra_ , is a word that's often thrown around. I suppose this is evidence of that."

"I mean, I like chocolates and all, but what the heck?! You could have just called me!"

"There was no guarantee you'd answer," Ivy pointed out. "And you shouldn't have to spend Valentine's Day alone…without chocolates, I mean."

Kara blushed, though she covered it with a hard scowl, looking down at the bag in her hands. "I don't think I want to accept your apology."

"Well, I haven't made one yet.

"Still," Kara doubled down. "You really hurt my feelings that night."

"I know," Ivy murmured, standing close, but not too close. "I made a mistake, Kara. I've made a lot of mistakes. But what I did that night…it had nothing to do with you. _Nothing_."

"Well, I was the one you yelled at," Kara mumbled. "I was the one that was only half dressed when you told me to leave. I was the one who had to fly to Metropolis to stay with Clark, and cried on his shoulder for hours because I finally opened up to someone else. Finally let—let…finally let someone else… _touch_ me. Never thought I would, but I did. And then you screamed at me."

Ivy didn't respond for a long while. Kara actually had to reluctantly raise her eyes to see if the redhead was even still there.

But she was. Looking very sad.

"I'm sorry about Jo," Kara added quickly. Just because she'd wanted to say it. She needed to. "I can't imagine anything harder than outliving your child."

"Thank you," Ivy whispered. "Kara…" she seemed to be beginning a new thought. "The last time I saw my wife, her last moments on Earth…she was crying. And when I asked her why, she told me she was scared that she'd miss me, as wherever she was headed off to, I would never be able to follow." She had to take a moment to swallow. "She asked me if I'd wait for her…"

"And you told her yes," Kara guessed. Though she really didn't need to. Of course that had been Pam's answer. It would have been Kara's answer too if Lena had asked the same question.

"I allowed myself to feel happy for a moment, Kara. Truly happy," Ivy told her. "I was having a good time, I…I _wanted_ you. Badly. And at that realization, I felt nothing but guilt and shame. That's why I asked you to leave," she explained. "I was trying to keep my promise."

Kara just nodded, her eyes still trained on the backpack in her hands.

"I was afraid that loving you…liking you…being with you…it meant I didn't still love Harley. And I do, Kara, I really do."

"I know you do," Kara quietly acknowledged.

"But my daughter, she said something to me after Harley died," Pam continued. "She said that wherever Harley is now, she took a little piece of me with her. A little piece of my heart. And now I realize Jo took some too, when she left. And so did Bruce and Selina, and Barbara and Dick. And now I'd—I'd like to offer a piece to you, Kara, if you'd accept it. Because, in return, I get to keep our memories."

Kara looked up at the thickness of Ivy's voice.

"At the beginning, Harley said our life was just going to be a snapshot to me," Ivy went on. "A snapshot of love, of happiness…an entire life, a love story, all contained in a series of images that I get to keep in a grand photo album that will last my entire existence. Last until the end of time itself." Pam was smiling now, even through her tears. "And if I keep loving people. Keep taking pictures. Keep giving bits and parts of myself…maybe someday, there won't be any of me left. And then perhaps…perhaps I'll be allowed to rest."

"That's…Pamela, that's really sad," Kara was crying too now.

"No," Ivy disagreed. "What's sad is the realization that I may have ruined my shot with you. Torn the pages out before we even began. An entire life missed because I was afraid. Harley would have never wanted that," she reasoned. "Would never want me to be afraid. I still love her, Kara, I don't see that ever changing. But I think…I think maybe I could love you too, if you'd give me the chance. A second chance."

Kara blinked her tears away, her blue eyes sparkling, heart pounding, chest full, and stomach fluttering. "Do you like chocolate?" she blurted out before she could think of a more elegant response. "Because, um, I have a whole bag now, see? And no one to share it with."

"I don't like chocolate," Pam admitted, and Kara deflated in the moment before she continued. "But in the ultimate test of my devotion, I'll eat it for you."


	88. Chapter 88

**Author's note:** **Rated 'M' for violence towards the end. I should really just change the entire rating, lol.**

Pam was awoken by the feeling of soft lips pressed against her own. She screwed her eyes shut tighter at first, fighting against the intrusion of the crisp morning air.

"Is there a window open?" she mumbled before opening her eyes, trying to get her ducks in a row.

"Oh! I'm sorry, you're cold!"

Pam felt the mattress shift as Kara— _yes, it was Kara_ —got up, crossing the large bedroom with a hurried pitter-patter of her bare feet, and slammed the window shut.

"I forgot to close it when I flew back in," she apologized.

At that, Pam's eyes finally blinked open, squinting at the bright light that streamed into the bedroom through the large picture window. She'd never really woken up in a strange bed before, a strange room, strange house, strange city…and the effects were a bit disorienting. Kara was returning to the bed, dressed in her Supergirl costume, her cape still on her shoulders…and it took a moment for Pam to get her bearings. "You've already been out this morning?"

"Well, yeah, I went out to get us coffee," Kara plopped back down on the bed. "And the guy in front of me tried to rob the place! Absolute madness. But I got free coffee and a whole basket of muffins. Do you like lemon poppy seed? I thought you might like lemon poppy seed."

Pam went to sit up, and when she did, the blanket fell from her chest—causing Kara to blush furiously at the sight. "Oh, sorry, I forgot I was—I forgot we…" Pam was blushing now, too. She wasn't used to blushing.

The night before had started out with chocolates, yes…but all Pam wanted was to kiss her. It was all she'd been thinking about for some time…the soft pillows of Kara's lips, her little, excited moans…her hands around the small of her back, running slowly up and down her spine…her tentative, questing tongue…

Kissing had led to roaming hands, and the movement of Kara's hips against her own had eventually gone from insistent to desperate.

When Kara picked her up off the couch, moving them into the bedroom, Pam attempted to explain the significance of the nickname she'd used the last time…and though it was painful for Pam, and admittedly less than eloquent, Kara seemed to understand. She'd laid her down on the bed, pressing a firm kiss to her lips and saying: "Pamela, Pam, Ivy."

The sincerity in her eyes had made Pam's heart flutter, the knot in her stomach finally untying itself.

"Rao, you're so beautiful," Kara whispered, staring dutifully at an obscure spot on the comforter. "Sorry I woke you up, I just, um…you looked like a princess? And so I thought I should probably kiss you to make sure you didn't die or anything cuz you…well, you sorta sleep like you're dead. Perfect and dead."

Pam laughed. "Did you…enjoy yourself? Last night?" she hoped she had. She really, sincerely hoped she had.

Kara's flush deepened, still refusing to look at her. "Yes, yes, I really, um—yeah, wow, yes, I—you're—you were very, um…good," she summarized awkwardly. "Thank you."

Amused, Pam said: "You don't work today, do you?"

"Nope!" Kara grinned happily, finally looking up…only to again go red in the face when she found Pam's chest was still uncovered.

Pam's lips quirked into a smile. "Then would you…like to come back to bed?"

"I—oh, yes," Kara quickly stood up. "Yes, please. I—," she was fumbling with the latch on her cape. "Wait, did you want to undress me? Or—I just…" she caught a glance at Pam's expectant expression. "We can just figure it out as we go," Kara decided, jumping back into bed to a giggle from Pam.

"You know what I was thinkin'?" Kara asked sometime later, her fingers running through Pam's sweat-dampened hair.

"Hm?" Pam mused, looking up from where her head lay on Kara's chest.

"I was thinking I could probably love you too," Kara smiled down at her. "Thinking…maybe I already do."

/

"Delilah?"

Her head shot up from where she was nodding off, and she stood quickly—before she was ready—on shaky legs.

He chuckled amusedly. "I'm Dr. Billings. It's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your nap."

"No, I'm—I'm sorry," she said, her skin hot with embarrassment. "I just—I don't sleep much. Aren't enough hours in the day."

"Right." He smiled kindly at her, holding his arm out to indicate his office. "Shall we get started, then?"

The room was not unlike other psychiatrist's offices she'd been in through the years…his diplomas were displayed proudly on the wall, the lines of the furniture were clean, the space was bright, tissues were ready on each of the couch's end tables…there was even a reclining leather chair for if the patient wanted to be dramatic.

"Delilah Wayne…" he read off of his notepad as she sat down on the couch. Evidently he was old school. Didn't seem that old, though. Late 40s, perhaps mid-50s, if she had to guess. "Looks like I am the…5th psychiatrist you've seen during your lifetime?"

"Yeah, but I'm not crazy or anything," Delilah assured him. "See, my Nana was a therapist—Dr. Harleen Quinzel? Maybe you heard of her?"

"Ah, yes, the Poison Ivy specialist."

"That's the one," Lilah grinned. "Yeah, so she was always sort of our therapist when we were kids, but she died when I was 15 and so my Mom made us go see other people."

"But why so many?" Dr. Billings questioned.

"Umm…well, see, Mom was always…nervous about it," Delilah attempted to explain. "Nervous about us being taken advantage of in one way or another. I was never allowed to see male doctors, and my sister—she's gay—she was never allowed to see female ones. But Mom always made sure we were in therapy."

"Mm…" Dr. Billings acknowledged, making a quick note. "Your mother sounds a bit paranoid."

"My Mother is dead," Delilah snapped, startled at the suddenness of her own tone. "And no, she wasn't paranoid. There is a precedent—of both patient-therapist relationships and weird age gaps in my family. My brother married my Mom's friend."

"My condolences for your mother," he offered. "She was the gymnast, yes? You'll excuse me, seems every resident of Gotham is forced to know what the Waynes are up to. Cancer, yes?"

"Yeah, 7 months ago. She was, um…" Delilah drummed her fingers on her pant leg. "She was only 62."

"Mm…" he nodded, making another note before tapping his pen a few times on the paper and looking up at her. "How about we put her to bed for a moment. Let's talk about you. Delilah Wayne…how is it being a triplet? I was an only child, so I always wondered…"

"Umm…" Delilah she had to think on that a moment. "It can be hard sometimes I think to…be seen. Because everybody sorta just sees us as The Wayne Triplets. So you need something that makes you different. Makes you standout. Makes you memorable…like Daisy—my sister—she's the gay one, and she definitely isn't shy about that. Plus, she's a club owner and an art dealer and the press loves her because she's hot, gay, and bitchy. And my brother, Terry. He's a boy. That's enough. He's The Wayne Boy. Looks just like my Dad but he's a little more fun."

"So, then what are you?"

"I played soccer in college, so I was The Athlete, for a while," Lilah shrugged. "But I'm 38 now. That doesn't really matter anymore."

"Well…" Dr. Billings sat forward slightly. "What do you do for work?"

"I help my Dad manage the estate," she explained. "Actually had to move back in with him after Mom died, he was such a wreck. And that's—it's fine, really. I love my Dad, but—,"

"You're the middle child," Dr. Billings finished for her. "You're elusive, make the sacrifices that no one else bothers to, but gets none of the credit."

Delilah laughed with a distinct nervousness. "You make it sound like I should be resentful."

" _Are_ you resentful?"

"No. No," she assured him. "No, Mom said I could be anything I wanted to be, and this is what I chose. All I ever wanted was to be part of the family business, and…now I am. I don't—I'm not resentful. I'm grateful."

Dr. Billings was smiling at her now, a hint of judgment in his gaze. He hadn't even bothered to make a note that time. "Do you have someone special in your life, Delilah? A boyfriend?"

She tucked a ginger curl behind her ear. "I've had them on and off…the last guy was nice, but…we've got a lot of secrets, my family. So you really…really have to trust somebody, and I haven't…met anyone that I trust yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you prioritize your family's privacy over your own happiness?"

"I'm a Wayne, Doctor. The name always takes precedent. I prioritize it because it's far more important than any individual happiness."

"Mm…" he hummed, looking her over. Watching her body language as she curled inwards on herself.

Delilah was feeling a little drained, and tired…then again, she was always tired. Just a symptom of having both a demanding day and night job. "Are you out of questions?"

"There was once a rather famous psychiatrist in this city that focused on a person's greatest fears…" Dr. Billings began.

"Yeah, his name was Jonathan Crane, and he was a supervillain." Delilah knew her villain history.

"Right," Billings granted. "But my question, Delilah, is what is your greatest desire?"

Lilah frowned. "Like…what do I want?"

"If you could have anything. Yes."

"I, um…" she thought on that for a moment. "I'd like to stop saying goodbye to people."

/

"Damian," Pamela slammed the oven door shut for probably the 5th time in the last 20 minutes. "Every time you do that, the heat escapes. We have a timer for a reason. And Kara!" she smacked the blonde's hand away when she reached for yet another fried onion from the top of the green bean casserole. "If I let you keep at this, there will be no food left for dinner!"

"But I'm soooooo hungry, Pam," Kara whined.

"This is why you brought snacks, remember?" Pam prompted. "Eat your snacks."

"Fine," Kara pouted, reaching into Pam's purse for a protein bar.

"Good, now—" she'd just brought her attention back around to Damian when the doorbell rang. "OK, I need to get that, but—Tiffany! Tiffany, hi." She stopped the woman as she attempted to cross through the kitchen. "I need to get the door, will you keep an eye on them, please?"

"Oh, um—,"

Pam left before Tiffany could manage a full response.

The doorbell rang again on her trip over, which Pam rolled her eyes at. Both because Wayne Manor was much too big—the trip from the kitchen to the door was essentially a trip up the Pacific Crest Trail…and because she'd somehow managed to surround herself with a group of the most impatient people on the planet. Seemed that was a hereditary trait Harley had passed down.

"Daisy." She smiled once she had the door open…there was a nervousness to her granddaughter's smile that Pam wasn't accustomed to, and went momentarily unexplained until Pam identified the owner of the hand Daisy was clasping. "Damian!" Pam called back over her shoulder. "Daisy brought The Vreeland Girl to Thanksgiving!"

Daisy immediately deflated at the sound of Damian's laugh emanating from inside, and the "Yeah right," he added for good measure.

The Vreeland Girl (a woman) rolled her eyes. "You told them I was clingy, didn't you." She turned to Pam before Daisy could respond. "She's a commitment-phobe who's broken up with me literally 10 times in the last 15 years. And my name is Sofia, not 'The Vreeland Girl'. Veronica was my grandmother; I have two generations of separation. It's nice to finally meet you, Dr. Isley."

Pam remained silent for a moment, giving Sofia a thorough look-over, before ultimately sighing. "Did you have to go with another redhead, Daisy?"

"Oh, go fuck an alien, Grandma," Daisy snapped, the last of her nervous excitement leaving her, replaced with her far more typical haughty depression.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Pam assured her, opening the door wider. "Welcome, Sofia. Dinner's in 20 minutes."

She led them into the living room, where Delilah immediately rolled her eyes from the couch where she'd been watching Garth and Tula play. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me…"

"Good to see you too, Delilah," Sofia responded to what was obviously a comment on her inclusion in the holiday.

"Seriously, Daisy?" Lilah bypassed the redhead completely, addressing her sister instead. "Out of all the women in Gotham—you had to bring The Vreeland Girl?"

"Hey, blame Grandma," Daisy defended herself. "She's the one who told me it's time to stop being a slut."

"Well, not quite in those terms…" Pam muttered, collecting their jackets from them.

"I just don't get why it has to be her!" Lilah complained.

Terry entered the room then, a beer in his hand, and plopped down next to his sister. "She never got over the Class President loss, Sof. Mom said she had to win it herself, and she lost, so she internalized that failure, and—because you won—still associates it with you. You're welcome," he finished with a wink, and received a swift punch in the arm.

"Right, right," Sofia was nodding. "That sounds totally rational. Not like that was 22 years ago or anything and we're now fully grown adults."

Lilah opened her mouth to say something, but Daisy interrupted before she could make a sound. "If you whip out the 'Mom would disapprove' thing, I'm going to slap you, Delilah. I swear to God."

Her mouth snapped shut with some reluctance, hardening her gaze until she chose to speak again. "No, Daisy, I wouldn't dare. Can't have you retreating into the woods for another three months of pouting while Terry and I act like—you know—adults?"

"Oh you Daddy's Girl motherf—," Daisy started to launch in, her tone venomous, before she was interrupted by a spray of water that exploded from the bottle in her sister's hand, spraying Delilah as well.

Terry laughed, giving Garth a thumbs up. "Good work, buddy."

"Well…" Pam cleared her throat. "I suppose I'll leave you to your…seemingly complex dynamics. Dinner's in 20 minutes," she repeated, heading back towards the kitchen.

Kara was evidently munching on her second protein bar (judging by the wrappers), her hand simultaneously reaching into a bag of cheddar bunnies.

"I applaud you for not burning down the house," Pam offered to Damian, who had pulled a chair directly in front of the oven to watch the turkey through the viewing window. "Any idea what's going on with Delilah? She seems stressed."

"That suicide wave is still ongoing and I think she might be sleeping with her therapist," Damian answered with some distraction, eyes still trained on the turkey.

"Wait, what?" Kara asked, her mouth full of cheddar bunnies.

"Can't know for sure…" he murmured, wrapping his hand around the oven handle, looking like he was using all his willpower to allow it to remain closed. "He's just had a—uh—profound influence on her."

Pam crossed her arms, unimpressed. "And your first assumption is that she's sleeping with him?"

"No…not my first. My fourth," he told her, biting his lip as the timer counted down through the final seconds, and wrenching the door open as soon as it beeped. "Thank fucking God."

Damian carved the turkey while Anthony supervised and Karen supervised his supervising. Pam clinked on her glass with her spoon, getting everyone's attention where she sat at the end of the table next to Kara, and stood up with her water glass in hand.

"I'd like to say a few words, if that's all right," she announced.

Tula clapped excitedly, like maybe her speech would contain some grand announcement, which made Kara giggle.

"Great," Pam smiled. "Well, I've been known to be a little long-winded…so I'll try to keep this short."

"Yes, please," Daisy encouraged.

Delilah threw a napkin at her from across the table.

And Pam sighed before beginning. "First, I'd like to thank Damian for, again, welcoming us all into his home…" the fact was, Pam had essentially demanded that everyone attend to help combat Damian's obvious loneliness. But she allowed Damian to believe it was he who was doing them a favor instead. Which was fine by Pam, she was taking care of Damian, just as she'd been asked, and honestly, the years had helped to dull some of his more undesirable traits, in Pam's opinion. Or maybe he'd always had that capacity…Jo had obviously seen something in him at a young age, perhaps Pam just hadn't given him his do. Didn't matter anyway. They were all here now.

"And Terry, Mareena and the kids…I'm so glad you chose to join us on the surface for a bit. I would ask if you're grateful it smells less like fish up here…but between Daisy, Sofia, Kara and I…"

Terry snorted. "Was that for Mom?"

"I'm trying to make up the quota," Pam explained. "Karen, it's so wonderful to see you," she pivoted. "I'm so glad you could make it out here. It's been far too long. I could go around the table and thank each one of you for coming, but in the interest of time, let me just say that I never thought I would look forward to the holidays. Even when Anthony and Jo were little, I went into them with notable trepidation…but after the loss we experienced recently, I can't think of anything more healing than getting to see all of your beautiful faces in one place. So, thank you. Truly. This is such a wonderful gift. Cheers to you all."

"Cheers to family," Anthony amended, raising his glass.

"Right," Pam smiled, watching as the rest raised their glasses as well before she finally sat back down in her seat.

"OK, OK," Anthony began from his place on the couch after they'd finished with dinner and dessert (Kara having taken care of what everyone else couldn't finish). "Best to worst Wayne Manor Thanksgivings. Go."

Damian scoffed. "You expect me to come up with a definitive list?"

"For the worst, I submit the one where Jason showed up completely inebriated," Pam got the ball rolling, tenderly adjusting Kara's head where the blonde lay on her shoulder, snoring softly.

"No way," Anthony disagreed. "That was like Karen's most romantic moment," he leaned over to kiss her on the nose, which she affectionately rolled her eyes yet. "That was one of the best. _The_ best, possibly."

"I'm inclined to agree with Anthony," Damian decided.

Pam was surprised at that. "Why? Because Selina cooked a good turkey?"

"Well, that was part of it," he granted. "But Jason Todd actually managed to be the ultimate wing-man that night. That asshole basically showed up wearing a t-shirt that said "DAMIAN IS A BETTER ALTERNATIVE".

Anthony laughed. "Dude, it took her like another three years to figure that out."

" _Dude_ ," Damian mocked. "She was 16. Would have been illegal for her to figure it out any sooner."

Pam chuckled at that, her eyes wandering from Damian to Delilah, where she stood in the doorway, her eyes slightly out of focus, staring blankly ahead. "Excuse me," Pam murmured, gently guiding Kara's head onto the arm of the couch so that she could stand.

"Hi," she rested her hand on Delilah's shoulder to get her attention, and the younger woman jumped at the contact—startled. "A bit jumpy, aren't you? Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I—sorry," Lilah apologized. "Was I in your way?"

"No…" Pam smiled, leaning against the wall. "I wanted to know what was on your mind. You seem a bit preoccupied."

Delilah shook her head. "I didn't mean that earlier—with Daisy. It's just…I can't believe she told Sofia everything. I've—I've never told anyone. And she just goes and tells Sofia."

Pam glanced over to where Daisy and Sofia were playing cards with Duke and Tiffany at one of the coffee tables. "I think it's an important step forward for them," Pam decided. "And I think it's good she's finally giving monogamy a try. It's not so bad, once you find the right person. And it's absolutely fine that you haven't found that person yet."

Delilah scoffed. "You make it sound like I'm looking."

"Aren't you?"

"There's no time. Not with this case," she muttered angrily—though her anger clearly wasn't directed at Pam. "Don't even have time to sleep, let alone date. It's 12 people now, Grandma. 12 people have committed suicide in the last two months. 12 children of Gotham's richest families. Dead."

Pam frowned. "Were they really all children?"

"Well, no. No, the youngest was 15," Delilah clarified. "Oldest was 35—but I just mean, we know these people. We see them at all the galas…I grew up with them. The 15-year-old was the daughter of a girl I went to school with."

"So, is that the only common thread?" Pam asked. "Their family's wealth?"

"I mean, the other commonalities are just symptoms of their wealth," Lilah crossed her arms. "Like, they all belonged to equestrian clubs, they were all enrolled in some form of psychotherapy, they all had investments in Gotham-based companies, or at least their family's did…"

Pam squinted, thinking. "I trust they were all seeing different therapists?"

"No, not all of them," Delilah admitted. "There are really only a handful of qualified mental health professionals in Gotham. Especially ones that cater to that type of client. Most of them were either seeing Dr. Billings or Dr. Sing, but I've been seeing Dr. Billings for months and he's been nothing but helpful. I can't see his therapy resulting in—,"

"Delilah," Pam interrupted. "What's Dr. Sing's first name?"

She looked confused. "William. Why?"

"What's a nickname for William?" Pam prompted.

"Umm…Will?" Lilah guessed. "Billy…Bill…"

Pam arched her brow, speaking slowly. "Dr. Bill Sings. Bill Sings."

Delilah searched Pam's face with her icy blue gaze for a moment before her eyes went wide with realization and she immediately buried her face in her hands. "Fuck me. It's a fucking anagram."

"You didn't let him, did you?"

Lilah tore her hands from her face. "Let him—f—no! God, that's disgusting. Why would you even—never mind," Delilah cut herself off with a firm shake of her head. "I'm officially an idiot."

She left Pam then, yanking Damian out of his chair and to his feet, announcing: "We've got work to do. Duke, Tiff, you too."

Duke sighed as he rose from his seat, helping Tiffany out of hers as well. "And here I thought I'd get one night off."

"Guys, we're in the middle of a hand!" Daisy complained. "You can't just—,"

"Kara and I can step in," Pam offered.

Kara sat groggily upright at the sound of her name. "What I miss?"

"You wanna come lose some money?" Daisy extended the invitation, nodding to the betting pile in the middle of the table.

"Oh, no, not really," Kara smiled, rising from the couch, the sleep clearing quickly from her eyes. "I'll win some, though. If that's alright with you."

Daisy chuckled. "Whatever you say, Danvers."

Pam chose not to remind her overconfident granddaughter that the Kryptonian power-set included x-ray vision.

/

 _"You'll have backup in 15 minutes. Tiffany is on her way over."_

Delilah hesitated at the edge of the wood, watching his orange and black costume disappear into the trees. "Should I continue pursuit?"

 _"Yes,"_ Damian instructed through her comm. _"We can't lose him."_

"Copy that," she exhaled, starting at a sprint after him.

Twilight was the worst time for visibility. Difficult to see with normal eyesight, but still too light for Delilah to turn on her night vision. She was thankful there was so much orange on his costume, he didn't exactly camouflage to his surroundings…and at that thought, she caught sight of him up ahead, taking a sharp right into the thicker woods. He didn't have much further to go that way, as the cliff dropped off into the ocean in another quarter mile.

"It's over, Billings!" she called out, her modulated voice swallowed up by the dark trees and the sound of the waves crashing onto the rocks somewhere below. "We know who you are!"

"I'm glad that makes you feel superior," his voice echoed back to her, seeming to come from all sides. "But you haven't caught me yet."

 _"Keep him talking. It'll slow him down."_

Delilah didn't know about that…his voice was strange, and wasn't helping her narrow down a direction. But Father knows best, right? "I don't get you, Doctor," she tried to bait him. "You're supposed to be helping people. How could you take advantage of them? They trusted you!"

His laugh was eerie, reverberating off the rocks that littered the ground. "Ah, you want to be my therapist now? Is that it?"

"Actually my degree's in graphic design," she corrected. "I'm basically useless, unless—hey, do you need a logo? I didn't see one on your chest."

He laughed again, sounding nearer now, so she slowed to a stop in a small clearing, spinning in a quick circle.

"I could do this all night, Billings. Why don't you save us both some trouble."

"Yes, why don't I."

She turned just in time to see a bright flash of light explode in front of her eyes, the strength momentarily blinding her, leaving her stumbling and disoriented.

 _"What was that?"_

"I don't—I don't know," she was blinking, her vision slowly returning…and he was gone. She was alone.

 _"Is he there?"_

"No, no, I don't think so." She looked between the trees where she'd seen him crouching just before the light. "Must have been a distraction. I'm sure he's headed back the other way."

An overwhelming quiet descended upon the forest then, the shadows of the trees growing longer, finger-like in the descending dusk.

"Dad, I—,"

 _"It's fine,"_ Damian interrupted what was going to be her apology. _"If he's headed back out, Tiffany will cut him off at the entrance."_

Delilah was just about to curse herself when a voice stopped her. A woman's voice.

"Hey there, Delilah."

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, a shiver running down her spine.

She knew that voice.

When she turned—slowly, oh so slowly—she found her grandmother sitting in her wheelchair at the edge of the clearing. A smile on her face.

"Nana?"

 _"Repeat that?"_

"You must be looking for the spandex guy," Harley continued, pushing herself forward a few feet. "What was his…" she frowned, thinking. "See, I can't remember his name because the idiot doesn't have a logo other than all those spirals…what was—what was his name, again? Spiral-Guy?" she called over her shoulder.

Delilah was cemented to the spot, petrified, cold sweat running down her face behind her mask.

"It's Spellbinder, Ma," Jo told her with, notable annoyance in her tone—like she'd already told her a million times—as she stepped out from the tree-line.

"M—mom?" Lilah breathed, afraid it would scare her away if she spoke any louder.

 _"Delilah, what are you talking about?"_

Jo was dressed in a pair of jeans and her Livestrong "I beat cancer" t-shirt. The one Delilah used to take as pajamas on sleepovers when she was little to feel less homesick. She ran a hand through her hair, smiling. "Hi, Baby…"

 _"Delilah, what's going on?!"_

"Mom's here…" she murmured. "Mom and Nana…"

 _"What do you mean they're there?"_

"I mean they're…they're…"

 _"Put on your vid-link."_

Delilah obeyed, her fingers shaking as she fumbled to switch on the camera in her mask. Jo was walking towards her now, the shadows of nightfall shading her face, so all that shone forth were her gleaming green eyes and bright white teeth.

 _"Delilah! He's coming right for you!"_

"No, that's—it's Mom!"

 _"Holy sh—that's how he does it!"_ Damian realized. _"Delilah, this is how he's controlling people. He's feeding them hallucinations! The suicides are forced!"_

"No, but—,"

"Let's take this mask off, Baby. Get that nasty voice out of your ear…" Jo cooed, her smile comforting now that it was closer…warm and compassionate.

And again, Delilah did what she was told. She'd always done what she was told. Though, without her mask, she had no microphone, no speaker…no hope for communication.

Jo ran her hand lovingly down her daughter's bare cheek after she'd retracted her mask. "I love your new suit…"

"It's—I changed my color," Delilah told her, resisting the urge to close her eyes at the familiar feeling of her Mom's smooth hands…remembering how she would cup her face and press a firm kiss to her forehead. "It's red now, like Nana's."

Harley laughed. "I think she wears it better than I did."

Jo smiled, pressing that kiss to her forehead now, whispering, "I do too," against her skin. "Delilah…my prettiest girl…my happiest baby…" she moved back to look her daughter in the eye when she said: "My favorite."

"No, that's—," Lilah felt the pressure of tears mounting behind her eyes. "That's not true. You—Daisy…"

Jo chuckled. "Daisy? What did Daisy ever do for me?"

"I—I don't—,"

"Nothing," Jo whispered, wrapping her arms around Delilah's back, pulling her into a warm embrace, which was quickly, and readily returned. "Not a thing…she didn't even come to my funeral."

Delilah stiffened at that. _Funeral_. "You're dead," she muttered, pulling back. "You're—you're dead. You're him."

Jo cocked her head with apparent curiosity—or pity, perhaps. "You don't want to have to say goodbye to me again, do you?"

"You're not real," she repeated the sentiment with a shake of her head, trying to firmly convince herself of the fact. "This is just another game." But… she even smelled just like her… _No. Stop it. Mom is dead. Mom is dead and so is Nana._

Delilah pulled her nunchucks from her belt. This was Billings. And this was going to end here.

Jo's eyes strayed to the weapon. "You're going to hit me with that?"

Delilah's heart was ramming against her ribs. "Yes."

A sadness passed through Jo's eyes, like she was resigning herself to this reality…it reminded Delilah of the look on her face when she told them her diagnosis. "Would you like me like this?" Jo asked, indicating her outfit. "Or…" a light suddenly exploded from her hand—one just like before—blinding Delilah once more. And when her vision finally returned, Hellbat was standing before her, though her mask was off so that her face was still visible in the moonlight.

 _It's not her, it's not her, it's not her, it's not her,_ Delilah swung her nunchucks, starting with a quick assault, the weapon cracking down on her mother's skull.

Jo crumbled to her knees, though she grabbed for a rock when Delilah raised her hand for another strike, swinging upwards and knocking Delilah squarely in the jaw and onto her back. Jo moved quickly then, making up the ground and climbing over her, taking the rock with her and raising it above her head for another crushing blow.

But with her position extended like that, Delilah was able to land two quick jabs: one to her trachea and the other to her temple, the second of which left her dazed enough for Delilah to reverse their positons.

She was quicker with her weapon, and the CRACK that sounded out as she once again brought the nunchuck down on Jo's skull echoed through the clearing. Blood spilled down her forehead from the gash, her strawberry blonde hair matted into the wound. Tears gathered in her eyes, their green shimmering in the moonlight. "Please don't hurt me."

Delilah's hand clenched tighter around her weapon, and she swung again, undeterred. This one sunk her cheekbone into her face.

"Please. Don't hurt me, Baby…"

"YOU'RE NOT REAL!" Delilah screamed, breaking her teeth and her jaw and the rest of her face…until the gurgling and pleading ceased and Jo stopped flinching at the blows.

Delilah's eyes shot up at the sound of crying beside her, and she found that Harley was still there, sitting in her wheelchair, hiding her eyes from the horror playing out before her.

"No! No, Nana, look! Look, she's not real!" Lilah assured her. "Here, look—," she ripped her gloves off to tear at Jo's face with her bare hands, as her gloves weren't sharp enough to clear the skin away. It was a mask. It was only a mask. This wasn't real, none of it was real.

But the feel of the skin beneath her nails as she ripped it felt real…and the green eyes that stared up at her still looked familiar, and the warmth of the blood that now covered her hands was mighty convincing.

"She's not real, Nana!" Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she started at Jo's neck now, clawing her costume off to expose more skin. Skin that was soft and tanned…skin that smelled like lilacs on a warm spring day. Skin that felt, looked and smelled like her Mother's.

Her scratching slowed to a stop, but Harley was still crying, and Jo was still beneath her. "M—mom?"

"Jesus Christ," Tiffany breathed from the other side of the clearing. "Delilah—what did you…"

It was difficult to see in the darkness now, especially through her tears, but the pink on Tiffany's costume lit the clearing in a soft light. Meaning Delilah could clearly see the terrified expression on Tiffany's face when she retracted her mask.

"It's her, Tiff—it's not—tell me it's not her!" panic and bile rose in Delilah's throat. "Tell me it's not really her. Tell me I didn't hurt her."

Tiffany was frozen to the spot, like she didn't dare take a step further. "Delilah, that's not—who is _her_?"

"Why would you do that?" Harley sobbed. "Why did you hurt her? She never hurt you."

"No, Nana! I didn't!" Lilah yelled in her direction. "I would never! I promise!"

Tiffany followed Delilah's eyes, staring for a moment…right at Harley. Right through Harley. "Delilah," she said in a harsh whisper, fear evident in her voice. "We have to go now."

Strong arms wrapped around Delilah's shoulders and she was dragged off the body and into the trees, skin and blood caked under her nails.

"I've got Batwoman," Tiffany panted as she yanked Delilah, kicking and sobbing, out of the forest. "And we need someone down here to clean up a body."

 **Author's note:** **Spellbinder was my absolute favorite Batman Beyond villain as a kid. Scared the crap outta me.**


	89. Chapter 89

**Author's note:** **Short chapter. It was supposed to be part of the last one, but it got too long and I didn't want to cut the fluff.**

Tiffany glanced nervously over at Delilah where she shook in the passenger seat. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her knees clamped together, and her eyes remained wide and stricken. Like she'd seen a ghost. Which, judging by what she'd been screaming as Tiffany dragged her back to the car, she actually might have.

Delilah's face was splashed with blood, and her bare hands were covered in it. She'd evidently left her gloves at the scene.

"What h—,"

Tiffany's first attempt at conversation was cut off when the phone rang out through the interior of the Batmobile. Delilah jolted at the sound, like she was expecting something to leap out at her from the stereo. So Tiffany answered quickly, recognizing Duke's avatar.

 _"Am I on speaker? Put me on speaker,"_ he said immediately.

"Yeah, you're—,"

 _"Delilah, what the fuck?!"_ he cut Tiffany off as soon as he had his answer. _"This is the most—what is this? Where the fuck is his face?!"_

Lilah's shoulders shook under some invisible weight, new tears spilling down her cheeks, smudging and mixing with the dried blood there. Tiffany also noticed, for the first time since she'd found her, that not all the blood had belonged to Billings; there was a jagged gash running nearly the length of Delilah's cheek.

"Should I send Max out to help?" Tiffany asked Duke when Delilah didn't respond.

 _"Hell no,"_ Duke said, sounding almost offended. _"I don't want Max seeing this."_

"OK, we're headed back to the house," Tiffany told him, not giving him the chance to speak to Delilah again. He clearly wasn't helping her mental state. "Meet us back at The Cave when you're done. I'm taking Lilah to Damian."

Tiffany helped Delilah out of her suit as soon as they exited the car. It would need a thorough washing (the suit and the interior of the Batmobile). She tossed the blood-stained suit in the corner rather than hanging it up like usual, and went to get Delilah some comfortable clothes to throw on over her spandex and sports bra. In her haste, Tiffany grabbed the first thing from Delilah's rack, which happened to be Jo's old Stanford sweatshirt, which Delilah sometimes liked to wear after her shifts—even though Jo had specifically said, "Tiffany, please don't let them fetishize my clothing. It gets weird."

…But Delilah had been so sad for so long, and it seemed to comfort her…and Jo was dead, so she didn't get to judge what was weird or not anymore. Let Delilah do what she had to do to get better—that's what Tiffany said, anyway.

This time, though, when Tiffany handed her the sweatshirt, Delilah backed away from it, so fast she slammed into the wall behind them with painful force, and immediately raised her hand to plug her nose. Although that only made matters worse, as her hands were still covered in Billings' now tacky blood.

Delilah was preparing to vomit when Damian entered the room, nearly at a run—or as fast as he could muster on 69-year-old legs. "Christ—Lilah, I thought I lost you!" he pulled his daughter into a firm embrace, holding her fast to his chest, not seeming to care about the blood.

"I shouldn't have listened to her, I shouldn't have listened, I shouldn't have listened," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I just m—missed her so m—much."

Damian didn't respond, his jaw instead clenched resolutely as he held her.

"I r—I ripped her f—face—I ripped her face right o—off," she heaved. "And Nana was c—crying when I l—left."

Blinking, Damian turned to look at Tiffany. "You removed her from the scene before the hallucination wore off?"

Tiffany swallowed at his tone. "Well, I—yes," she said. "Yeah, she was—Damian, she was out of control. I had to get her out of there."

He forcefully separated himself from Delilah, who was still clinging tightly to him, so that he could look her in the eye. "Delilah, you know who you killed, don't you?"

"It was M—mom," she cried, gripping his arms, not allowing him to completely let go. "There was just more s—skin underneath, it wasn't a mask, she's under my f—fingernails."

"Goddamn it, Tiffany," he growled. "She needed to see it was _his_ body."

"You should have briefed me, Damian!" Tiffany defended herself. "I had no idea what I was walking into!"

Damian shook his head, pulling Delilah close again, cradling her head against his shoulder. "It wasn't real," he murmured. "None of it was real. He didn't think you'd fight her, that's why he did that. But you were brave, and smart, and that's why you're standing here right now. He hurt a lot of other people because they couldn't tell the difference."

"I didn't want to fight her," Delilah heaved.

"I know that…" he soothed. "But you didn't. You fought him, and you won."

/

Delilah had to sleep, Damian knew that much. She'd been crying and hyperventilating and shaking on a loop for the past few hours, and finally, she'd fallen asleep on the couch in Harleen's old office. Luckily Pam had come to collect the photos that had once stood on the desk after Jo died, so Delilah wasn't in danger of being triggered again.

Damian thought about moving her up to her room, but he didn't want to risk waking her, and that was a long way for him to carry her. She wasn't a child anymore; she was a woman, and a rather tall, muscular one at that. A few years ago it wouldn't have been a problem, but Damian felt like he'd aged 10 years in the time between Jo's diagnosis and her death. He was constantly having to push the thoughts that he'd died along with her out of his head, remembering how that mentality had affected Selina. How it had ultimately been the end of her.

So he used Pamela for an example instead. An example of how to keep on existing even when you've lost what you thought was everything. An example of how to learn to appreciate the other gifts you've been given. Like your children and your grandchildren. And Delilah, and Daisy and Terry…Garth and Tula—they were worth it. And not only because they were all he had left of Jo. That's why he'd loved them at first, because they were theirs…they were hers…it's why he'd come back after his moment of weakness. He'd come back for her. But day by day, he'd learned to stay for them. And that's what he was doing now. Remaining.

He sent a text to Duke telling him to check on Delilah when he got in, and then went to bed. _Jo used to kill people all the time. She never lost any sleep over it_ , he reminded himself. _Delilah will be fine_.

She wasn't, though. Not by a long shot.

At 2:43am, Damian was awoken by a motion sensor alert. Someone was moving on the property.

Damian frowned, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to pull the monitor closer. Facial recognition told him it was Delilah, and she was making her way across the east lawn in a hurry, dragging something behind her.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Damian turned on the camera that would give him the best view of his daughter as she exited the lawn. The nightvision lens he was watching her through made her eyes glow eerily, and he had to squint to discern what it was she was dragging…but once he did, her direction began to make sense.

It was a shovel.

And she was headed towards the family cemetery.

"No." Damian shot up from the bed, neglecting shoes and a jacket (despite it being the 1st of December) as he ran down the winding stairway to the main landing, and then down the grand marble staircase to the main floor, where he then sprinted out the front door.

Unfortunately, he'd been in too much of a hurry to shut down the security measures that were set into motion when Delilah failed to key in her nighttime access code. He was tripped up by a wire first, and then immediately hit with a flurry of beanbags. Two of which he dodged, but three of which he was pelted with—two in the side and one in the neck.

Damian gasped for air, crawling on his knees over the cold grass. And that was only the first wave. It took him an hour to make the 2-mile trip, having to take a series of detours to avoid the security that Delilah had been able to bypass more easily thanks to her agility and evident determination.

She was down to the coffin by the time he arrived—panting, dirty, battered and bruised. "Delilah," the cold air burned his lungs. "Don't do this."

Delilah jumped down into the hole like she hadn't even heard him, bringing the shovel with her, jamming the tip into the hinge and working it open like one would use a crowbar.

"Lilah, please!" Damian forced himself forward, his feet like bricks of solid ice. "Let her rest. She's in there. You know she's in there!"

"No I don't," she was crying again, exhausted from the exertion of digging 6 feet under. "I just need to see her, I just need to—the real her, I need to see her."

Damian heard the CRACK of the seal, and was hit with a smell so putrid he had to swallow down the bile that immediately shot up his throat in reaction. He bent over as he gagged, and gagged again, his eyes stinging, watering at the rancid aroma.

Delilah recovered a bit quicker, plugging her nose and staring down into the now open coffin.

"You happy now?!" Damian yelled, coughing on the smell of his rotting wife. "Seen all you need to see?! She's dead, Delilah. She's _been_ dead. For 7 months she'd been wasting away in that fucking box. Now let. her. rest!"

Delilah shut her eyes tight, then opened them again, repeating the process another three times before attempting to speak. The words died on her tongue in her first attempt, but in her second, she managed to force out the words: "I don't know."

And that's when Damian understood what she needed from him. Her silent question. Delilah didn't trust herself. She'd been tricked, cruelly, and when your reality is bent, trusting your eyes can seem an impossible task.

"Please don't make me look at her," Damian whispered.

"Dad," tears trickled down Delilah's cheeks. "I saw her tonight. I killed her. She hugged me and I killed her."

Damian could see the fear in his daughter's eyes, the unadulterated panic. All of his children had loved their mother, but none as purely as Delilah had. No one loved anything as purely or as completely as Delilah did. And in this moment, she seemed so small. Like the little girl who'd crawl into her sister's bed at night because she was so afraid of being alone…needed someone to cling to. And now, Delilah needed to know the monsters under her bed weren't real.

Jo would look, if it were him in that coffin. He knew she would.

 _"I know they're grown-ups and everything…but they're still going to need a dad, you know," she murmured beside him in the lamplight. "I'm 62 years old and I still cried myself to sleep the other night because my mom hung up on me," she laughed mirthlessly. "God, I'm such a fuckin' cry baby."_

 _"I don't know why you say that," he exhaled. "I don't remember ever seeing you cry before this bullshit. Except for at the beginning when you were playing a game."_

 _"Just because you didn't see it doesn't mean I didn't do it," she mumbled. "It's easier to suffer in silence."_

 _Damian propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her. "So what does it mean that you're crying in front of me now?"_

 _Jo smiled softly, reaching a gentle hand up to trail it down his cheek: "Probably that I'm really sick."_

Delilah was _really sick_.

So with all the courage he possessed, Damian straightened himself up to his full height. _You have a million memories of her_ , he reminded himself as he circled around the disturbed grave. _You don't have to remember her like this._

But Damian knew, as soon as he was brave enough to look downwards, that he would never, ever, be able to scrub this image from his memory. It would remain there—seared, until the day he died.

Seemed her plant-pigment had finally come in—or perhaps that was just the color of decomposition—as her skin was a sickly green color, and appeared vacuum-packed, stretched thin and tight over the stringy bellies of her muscles. Each ligament was highlighted in a striated pronouncement of what had once looked organic.

Her hair and fingernails had continued to grow after they'd buried her, the nails yellow and hair white at the roots. Damian no longer felt relief at the idea these past months had been restful for her, as her expression had somehow twisted into one of anguish, her face contorting as the skin stretched in some patches and tightened in others, her cheeks gaunt and hollowed, eye sockets empty.

Her lips were all but gone as well, likely eaten away by the worm that slithered through the holes of what remained.

And that's when Damian began to cry, sinking to his knees, hot tears dripping through his frozen fingers as he buried his face in his hands.

 _"Please get some sleep," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the cold skin of her forehead before standing back and adjusting the silver medal around her neck one last time._

 _He gripped the wooden lid of the coffin, hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and in one swift movement, closed it on her._

Delilah slammed the lid shut, treating her father's tears as a positive identification, and climbed out of the grave with notable haste, sniveling, "I'm sorry," before starting at a sprint down the path—not back up to the house, but into the woods before the road.

/

Pam inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of what must have been baby shampoo for one more serene moment before reluctantly unwrapping her arm from around Kara's waist, and twisting towards the nightstand for her vibrating cellphone.

"Honestly, Damian?" she rumbled into the receiver, her voice gravely with sleep. "My alarm is due to ring in 30 minutes. Could whatever this is not have waited until then?"

He swallowed on the other end of the line, and when he spoke, his voice sounded raw, like someone had taken a whittling knife to his vocal cords. _"Are you in Gotham?"_

"No, I'm in National City." She sat up against the headboard, concerned now. "Is everything alright?"

"No," he murmured, like he was too exhausted to deliver it any other way. "No it's not. Delilah—she's checked herself into Arkham."

Pam turned the bedside lamp on, forcing Kara to finally acknowledge the fact that this was their alarm clock. "She what?"

"We finally tracked down our man for that suicide case. The guy—Billings—called himself Spellbinder," Damian said—and just from his voice she could tell he was rubbing his temple. "He led Delilah into the woods…made her see some things that weren't really there…so she murdered him. Bludgeoned him to death and then scratched his face off."

" _Delilah_ did that?"

"Things didn't get much better once we got her home…" he continued. "But I don't want to get into that right now. How soon can you get be back in Gotham?"

Pam was already getting up, yanking open one of the drawers Kara had donated to her and pulling out a pair of jeans. "I'll be on the next flight. Whatever this is, Damian, we'll figure it out, OK? I don't care what she did, there's no reason for her to be in a place like that."

It was a moment before he responded. "I'm not so sure about that, Pamela."

 **Author's note: far and away my least favorite chapter to write.**


	90. Chapter 90

Duke said Pam would find Damian in the graveyard, and find him she did—shoveling dirt into Jo's now uncovered grave.

"Gaia," Pam plugged her nose upon arrival. "What is that smell?"

"7 months of decomposition," he answered flatly, digging in for another shovelfull of dirt.

Pam was horrified, looking from Damian, to the headstone, to the three feet of depth he was attempting to make up. "Damian, what did you do?"

"I don't know," he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. "My best? It's been a long night, Pamela." He resumed his work.

"What—," Pam cleared her throat. "What happened here?"

Damian sighed heavily. "Like I said on the phone, things didn't exactly get better once she came home. But it's funny, isn't it?" he kicked a clump of soil into the hole. "Funny to realize the things we can and can't handle. Harleen couldn't stand the thought of you in pain, unless it was her doing the hurting. Selina could run from my father, but couldn't stand the thought of him not being there to chase her. Jo could dream about being raped, but couldn't handle her dreams being crushed. I could decapitate my biological mother, but couldn't say goodbye to my father…Delilah could dig up her Mother's grave, but couldn't stand the thought that perhaps she'd put her there…" he stuck his shovel upright in the dirt. "What couldn't you do, Pamela? Where was your limit?"

Pam swallowed. "I have a lot of limits, Damian."

"Mm…" he hummed, smiling wistfully at her in what Pam thought was an odd reaction given the circumstances. "They have her on a 72 hour hold. Won't allow any visitors or phone calls until that's up. So I guess my call was a bit premature."

"No, I was coming back today anyway," Pam excused his apology. "And I love my granddaughter, Damian. I'm as concerned as you are."

He picked up the shovel once more. "I appreciate that."

/

79 years prior, when Pamela traveled down this long, winding road, littered with dips and potholes that the city simply refused to re-pave, she promised herself it would be the last time. That trip in Selina's Porsche had symbolized a new beginning for her. The end of a long and difficult era.

And yet…

Here she was.

In a Porsche (though this one flew).

With another Catwoman in the driver's seat ( _Wildcat_ because Daisy insisted on being stubborn).

Traveling up that long, winding road this time _towards_ that dark, looming structure that sat atop the hill overlooking the city, rather than away from it.

Harley had always said it was important to face your demons…but this one…this one Pam had liked the idea of staying away from.

Daisy ran a nervous hand through her hair once she lowered the car to the ground, but made no move to get out. She'd cut her hair short soon after she graduated high school, as that's when she began to occupy most of her time with her night job. It had eventually become too much of a nuisance to wear under her cowl, so she'd cut it short, in a similar style as Selina had worn. When she was little, Daisy's hair and skin tone had been identical to her sister's, but as time passed and she matured, her hair had changed from a Carrie-esque orange to a caramel brown, and she'd traded in her freckles for a tan.

The Isley-Quinzel influence had remained obvious in Delilah, while Terry had always been the spitting image of his father—making Daisy perhaps the most perfect marriage between Jo and Damian.

On that day 79 years ago, there was no way Pamela could have even conceived of a world in which she'd have a hand in a generation of Wayne's. Then again, Pamela also doubted she could have conceived of even having children of her own. Thinking of their spouses already would have been almost comically premature.

But here Pamela was with her granddaughter. A Wayne. A thief and an anti-hero. And here they were visiting yet another of Pamela's Waynes. A hero. And a patient at Arkham Asylm.

"Are you—like—gonna be OK with this?" Daisy ventured, nodding up at the building. "I mean; is there any way I can help make it easier?"

"You're helping just being here," Pam smiled at her, though it was admittedly weak. She didn't want to admit how fast her heart was beating, how clammy her palms were, how genuinely afraid she was to face this part of her past…but if there was one thing that Pamela had learned in the 79 years since she left here, it was that sometimes you have to get out of your own way and step aside for the people you love. And Pamela loved Delilah. Loved her since the day she pulled her out of the incubation tank and handed her off to her daughter. "Let's go."

Daisy nodded, popping the door open and exiting the vehicle, Pam in tow. And as Pam followed her granddaughter up the steps toward her former prison, she was reminded of the day she was released from Justice League quarantine after her mutation. Remembered how Jo had shouted with excitement at the sight of her, and ran, nearly toppling both of them onto the ground with the force of her hug. Pam remembered the quiet relief in Harley's eyes and Anthony's nervous embrace….and she remembered how good it felt to know people were out there for her. People who loved her. People who'd missed her while she was away. People who were praying she'd get better.

That's what she wanted Delilah to feel. Supported. Held. Missed. She wanted to save her from the fate she'd suffered as a young woman. That feeling of overwhelming loneliness that had so quickly soured into resentment. Delilah was simply too good.

"Name?"

"Daisy Wayne, here to visit Delilah Wayne."

"Relation?"

"Re—lady, do you have any idea how much money my Mother dumped into this shithole?" …Daisy seemed a little on edge.

"They're sisters," Pam took over, now the calmer of the two. "And I'm her cousin."

"Name?" the guard raised an eyebrow, stylus poised.

Pamela wet her lips. "Priscilla Danvers. Do you need our IDs?"

"Nah…" the woman filled out their visitor's badges. "I recognized that one when you came in," she nodded up at Daisy.

Daisy rolled her eyes, snatching the badges away from her, and handing Pam hers.

The guard was grinning. "Head through the scanner over there, if you check out, you can proceed to the visitor area."

"Thank you," Pam offered, grabbing Daisy's arm and pulling her towards the body scanner. "Answering simple questions outright sometimes makes the world go faster."

"Yeah, well, Mom said we could all choose one annoying rich kid thing, and I chose entitlement, so…it is what it is," Daisy responded in a harsh whisper, reluctantly removing her jewelry so they'd allow her through the metal detector.

Taking off her wedding and engagement ring, Pam asked: "What was Terry's?"

"He popped his collar a few times, so Mom revoked the option," Daisy explained, walking through without issue.

Pam got a strange look from the guard manning the monitor. Her bones and internal organs tended to glow oddly in x-rays. But, luckily, the security was just as lazy as Pam remembered, and they were allowed through without incident.

She'd never had visitors when she was a patient at Arkham, so, honestly, she hadn't even been aware there was a visitor's room. She supposed they'd deemed Delilah violent for some reason, as the room they were led into was divided down the middle by a thick glass wall.

Pam was honestly just happy she didn't have to see Delilah in a cell, though…. she _was_ wearing a straitjacket.

"Yikes," Daisy said immediately upon Delilah entering the room on the other side of the glass. "That ain't a good look, Sis."

"I told them I killed her but I wouldn't say who or where," Lilah mumbled in response, her eyes trained on the buckles of her straitjacket. She swallowed, like she was gathering up courage, before saying: "Sorry I dug her up, Grandma. Do you…accept my apology?"

Pam blinked. _Well, in a perfect world, you would have left my daughter's grave undisturbed_ … "Of course I do, Sweetheart."

"Do you…" Delilah slowly—reluctantly—raised her eyes to meet Pam's green ones. "Think Nana Harley will? Someday?"

Daisy tilted her head, puzzled by the question. "Um…we don't really have to care about what Nana Harley thinks anymore, Lilah. No offense, Grandma."

Pam excused her with a slight nod, her gaze remaining trained on Delilah's wide, watery eyes. "Honey, Nana Harley was never cross with you for a day in her life. I'm sure if she were here now, she'd bring herself to understand the mental state you were in. Everyone does things they regret, especially under duress. Harley knew that better than anyone."

"I just don't want her to hate me," Lilah mumbled, leaning her head against the glass.

Pam and Daisy glanced at each other, both wearing looks of confusion and concern. "Honey, who's your doctor?" Pam wondered.

"I'm claustrophobic," Delilah complained rather than answering the question, jerking her shoulder uncomfortably. "I don't like this anymore."

"OK, look," Daisy moved close to the glass. "Without a body, they can't prove you actually killed anyone. So just calm down, lay low, and we'll have you out of here by the end of business tomorrow."

"Oh," Delilah glanced up at her sister. "No, I can't leave." She sounded surprised that Daisy would even suggest such a thing. "I killed someone—like a criminal, Daisy. And then I dug up Mom's grave—like an insane person. This is Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. I'm exactly where I need to be."

 _Gaia, she actually…believes in the system._

And that realization was even more jarring than the rest. More unbelievable than Pam marrying her doctor, or having children that both married superheroes, or having a grandson that lived in Atlantis, or the fact that she'd considered Bruce Wayne a good friend, or that she was now dating a Super…yeah, no, the most disturbing revelation was that Poison Ivy had a granddaughter that believed in the system so thoroughly she'd actually checked _herself_ in to Arkham.

 _How the hell did that happen?_

"If that's what you think is best," Pam said, in a response that surprised even her.

"Umm…" Daisy started to say.

Pam closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, pressing on before she could think better of it. "Delilah, if this is where you feel safest right now, then I won't immediately ask to have you removed. But I do have a few stipulations. Did you…bring your listening ears?" she wasn't sure how far Delilah had regressed, just knew that she evidently thought Harley was still alive and well.

"My best ones," Delilah assured her, seemingly without irony.

 _I guess that answers that_ … "There are secrets that need to be kept," Pam began. "Important secrets that profoundly affect each and every person you hold dear."

"Yeah, I know," Delilah mumbled. "I'll be careful."

"Now, that fact will make it difficult for you to fulfill my next request, but this one is just as important. You have to allow your doctors to help you," Pam mandated. "If you truly believe you belong in here, then the goal has to be to get out of here. Do you understand me? This is not a permanent state of being. This is not your home. This is a pit stop on the road to a better life and a healthier mind. Because this?" she indicated Lilah in her straitjacket. "This isn't an origin story. This was a mistake. And there is nothing empowering about letting a mistake snowball."

Pam reached out and placed her hand on the glass. "You are a kind girl, Delilah. With a big heart. Who I know was raised to understand that no one is all good or all evil. Shadows exist that we have to learn to cope with. I work every day to overcome mine, just like your Nana Harley did, and just like your Mother did. Welcome to the club, Kiddo. But don't let this stop you. Promise me you won't."

Delilah moved to rest her face where Pam's hand was pressing against the glass, as obviously she couldn't raise her own. "OK, Grandma. I promise."

/

Kara was jolted awake by the slamming of the front door, and sat up on the couch in a hurry. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, she'd meant to order food and set it out on the table for Pam when she got home. Pam had promised to explain what the heck was going on with her family, so Kara had come to Gotham after she got off at The Watchtower rather than fly home to National City.

"I'm late, aren't I?" Pam said, sounding disappointed with herself as she set her purse down. "I'm sorry, I felt the need to explain myself to Damian afterwards."

"No! no, you're fine, you're fine," Kara assured her, stealing a glance at her watch. "You're only…oh, well two hours isn't that bad. It's OK, I was having a good dream."

"Oh?" Pam's smile was both tired and amused as she made her way over to the couch, straddling Kara in one smooth movement. "Tell me about it."

"It was about my Mom," Kara focused to calm her fast-beating heart, and smiled up at her, wrapping her arms around Pam's lower back. "She was here, in this house, and she…" Kara furrowed her brow, trying to remember exactly how it had happened. "She was looking at your pictures in the hallway, and said you were cute."

Pam laughed. "Cute? She used that word?"

Kara shrugged, leaning up to whisper, "You're pretty cute, Pam."

Pam smiled into the kiss before separating with an exhausted sigh, resting her head in the crook of Kara's neck, and letting her body relax, shoulders slumping. "Thank you for waiting," she murmured.

Humming contentedly, Kara smoothed down Pam's hair, her fingers running lightly through the soft red waves. "I had to raid your fridge, though. Ate all your fried chicken."

"I made that for you," Pam mumbled sleepily. "I don't eat meat, remember?"

"Well…" Kara protested with a blush.

"Well…" Pam laughed. "I don't eat poultry. Better?"

Kara giggled. "You made me fried chicken? How'd you learn to do that if you don't eat meat?"

"There was a time before…" Pam said rather dramatically. "Speaking of mothers...mine would make fried chicken once a week for Sunday dinner. And…it was the only thing I taught Jo how to cook. She was so exceptionally impatient with the process, but see," she pulled back so she could explain this to Kara face to face. "She _liked_ fried chicken, and I told her I wouldn't make it for her again until she figured it out. And…she did."

Kara grinned. "What a triumph."

"Believe me," Pam chuckled, leaning down to kiss her again, her hand on the back of Kara's neck. "It was a chore."

Using the arm around Pam's waist, Kara maneuvered her onto her back on the couch, moving over her, bracketing her head on the cushion with her elbows. "And what about Harley?" she asked. "Could she cook?"

Pam scoffed. "God, no. Tried once. Literally one time. She went to a cooking class before Duke was born. That was it. Otherwise she was completely content with cold pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The perennial college student," Pam sighed with a certain affection. "And always content to eat what I made for her too. From the day she moved in to the day I said goodbye to her."

"Lena gave up on me pretty early," Kara remembered with a smile. "I promise I tried my best, I just—sometimes you have to be so precise in the kitchen, you know? Another chopsticks situation."

Pam's smile was soft as she reached up a hand to twirl a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "After I got out of Arkham and Harley and I tried to actually be together, I used to think…maybe she was why I was still here. Maybe when Woodrue made me Poison Ivy, he was making me for her. That's who Harley fell in love with, after all. I'm not stupid. I know what happened…" Pam's gaze drifted from Kara's hair, across her jawline. "Ivy intrigued her…pulled her in…I wouldn't have had a chance with her without Ivy…Pamela wouldn't have." Her eyes flitted up to meet Kara's. "So I cooked and cleaned for her. Held her, after Ivy fucked her. Waiting for the day that Harley would be in love with all of me, not simply the idea of me that existed within this ethereal being…"

"How long did it take?" Kara murmured.

"I'm really not sure," Pam brushed the lock of hair behind Kara's ear. "I didn't mind the wait, honestly," she admitted. "Before Ivy, I never thought anyone would love me. Not the way I wanted to be loved, at least. I thought…perhaps Professor Woodrue could love me. He rewarded me for my intelligence, and seemed to find it attractive…but that was a lie. A trick. He tricked me into settling and then punished me for it. So I thought…maybe Dr. Quinzel was tricking me too…"

"But she wasn't," Kara finished for her, so relieved at the happy ending.

"But she wasn't," Pam agreed in a whisper, swallowing as she looked up into Kara's blue eyes. "Delilah was tricked. Cruelly. And I hate that I wasn't here to fix everything for her."

Kara's heart warmed at the reminder of how deeply Pamela loved. _And she loves me_. "But didn't you tell me Harley always said you tried to fix too many things for Jo?"

"Yes," Pam conceded. "And ultimately, I couldn't fix anything. Which is so…frustrating."

"It is," Kara agreed. "But..." she leaned down to kiss her, slowly, breathing her in. "I'm really glad you're talking to me about it." She moved her lips to Pam's neck, her kisses warm and wet. "And I'm also really, super glad that this couch is so dang comfortable because I can tell you don't have the energy to make it to the bedroom."

"Mm…well…" Pam let her eyes slip closed. "It's a good thing I have a big, strong Kryptonian around to make sure I get to bed safely."

Kara paused, lifting her lips from Pam's skin to ask, "Like, right now? Or…can we…I sorta like the couch."

"Seems like you're in the driver's seat tonight." Pam slipped her hand under Kara's sweater at the back, unclasping her bra. "Show me what you've got, Supergirl."


	91. Chapter 91

Damian cleared his throat, feeling a bit uneasy in his daughter's presence. "I'm sorry about the press," he offered. "Got them off the lawn, at least."

"It's OK," Delilah murmured, standing in front of Hellbat's display case, her eyes trained on the costume's smile. "Guess I finally have my thing now. I'm the crazy one."

"It's all bullshit, Delilah. You know that," Damian sighed, wishing he could make everything better for her. "You're not crazy. I have a signed paper from your doctor to prove it."

Delilah scoffed, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Great." Shaking her head, her eyes drifting left, to where her suit was displayed behind glass of its own—though the gray fabric was still splattered with blood. "You couldn't clean it?"

Damian followed her eyes. "We've got Luke working on another one for you."

"Tell him not to bother," she quickly keyed in the code on the Hellbat case, pulling it open and reaching into her bag for a can of spray paint.

"Delilah, what are you—,"

She painted the word "DEAD" across its chest before Damian could stop her. "My doctor said I have to start separating fact from fiction." She nodded up at her work. "Visual reminders are helpful. Oh, and I quit," she told him, tossing the spray paint, forcing him to jolt into action to catch it. "I love you, Dad. But this shit? It's toxic."

Damian stood in a relatively stunned silence as he watched her leave. "Where are you going?" he finally managed.

"I don't know," she tossed over her shoulder as she scaled the metal stairs out of the cave. "Check the tabloids tomorrow."

/

Anthony was 78 when Pamela got the call.

" _Grandma, he's not doing too well_ ," Duke's voice was heavy on the other end of the line. " _I really think you should try to get over here_."

Duke had hung up his cape two years prior, at 54 years old, and moved out to San Francisco with Tiffany to take care of Anthony after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Max had stayed behind, allowing Carrie a long overdue retirement by taking over the tech-specialist position. Though, with Delilah's extended absence, and she and Terry's rather poor attempts at recruiting, Max still had to suit up most nights.

If there was one silver lining to Anthony's diagnosis, it was that when Karen died at 90 years old, he quickly forgot his grief. Often forgot why he was supposed to be sad at all. And if not for him, that at least made things easier on Duke. Perhaps Pamela was just projecting, but the idea of…forgetting everything, even just for a moment, being allowed a second of respite, sounded both welcome and helpful.

Then again, she hadn't seen Anthony in some time. Almost a year now. She and Kara had attended Karen's funeral, and Anthony had required a reminder as to who Kara was. Even looking confused when Duke whispered "Mom" into his ear as Pam approached.

It had scared Pam, quite frankly. And there was a way in which she felt like she'd already lost him. But there was no mistaking it now. Her son was dying, and she had to go to him.

Kara cleared her throat in the doorway. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Do you want to come?" Pam's voice was nearly quiet enough to be drowned out by the zipping of her suit case.

"I asked you first."

Pam sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes before finally turning to fully acknowledge her girlfriend. "Yes. Please, come with me."

Kara smiled softly, a hint of relief flashing across her eyes. "I'll pack a bag."

"Glad you could make it." Duke's arms were wrapped tightly around Pam nearly the moment she entered Anthony's home. "I think he's pretty close. I just—I didn't want him to go without you saying goodbye."

Pam swallowed. This was a reality she'd been running from for some time. Anthony had always been their rudder. A piece of dry land in an ocean of chaos. Saying goodbye…it was hardly a reality Pamela had even humored. "Of course," she nearly whispered.

Kara was setting their bags down in the foyer, but wasted little time before pulling Duke and Tiffany into a firm hug of her own. "You guys are such good people," she said, her voice already sounding like tears were threatening to spill forth. "Really. Anthony is so lucky to have so many people that love him."

"Well, he's pretty damn lovable," Tiffany smiled wanly. "Glad you could make it."

"Anything for family," she told them—though the last word came out a bit twisted, like she'd meant to hang onto it. But Duke just smiled kindly at her, squeezing her shoulder before turning his attention back to Pam.

"I don't know how familiar you are with Alzheimer's, Grandma, but at this point really all of his memories are gone. His speech will probably sound a little funny, and—uh—his fuse is a little short these days. Try not to say anything to confuse him, OK? It's really hard, believe me, I know, but if you try too hard to jog his memory he's going to get irritable. Better to follow his lead."

Pam nodded in understanding. "Is he in the bedroom?"

"Yeah, here, let me—,"

"I can find my own way," Pam quietly interrupted him. "I've visited before."

There was a moment of silence where Duke seemed to be deciding whether or not he wanted to allow Pam unfettered access to his father. But Tiffany moved them all along.

"You hungry, Kara? I made spaghetti last night, there's some leftovers in the fridge."

"Spaghetti sounds amazing," Kara smiled warmly, allowing Tiffany to lead her to the kitchen.

Duke nodded towards the stairs. "I guess I'll leave you to it."

Anthony had loved this house when he bought it. Pam remembered the day he and Karen toured it… Remembered the email she'd received with 23 attached photos, all of this house. Different aspects, different angles…It was taller than it was wide. Open spaces, high ceilings and lots of windows. Pouring with natural light and overlooking the bay. The architecture was far more modern than any of Pam's houses had been…but Anthony had always been a modern man. Obsessed with progress, enamored by innovation and addicted to broadening horizons.

Her son was a visionary, one who was able to translate his wondrous imaginings to the physical world. An artist and a builder. While Jolene had always aimed to improve reality, Anthony chose to create it.

So he and Karen had settled in this house—a house as beautiful and intricately designed as both of their brilliant minds. Karen, the woman Anthony had always loved more than he could ever hope to be loved in return. And now he was alone. More alone than Pamela would ever be because even his memories had abandoned him.

The door to his bedroom was slightly ajar, and Pam approached carefully, not wanting to startle him. But Anthony didn't seem to care. He was sitting up in bed, on top of the blankets, wearing only a white t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs, like he was just about to get ready for work. His hair—once a rich auburn color and always impeccably styled—was gray through-and-through, and suffering from an obvious case of bedhead. His eyes weren't as bright as they'd been when he was a young man. Their blue was clouded now, reminding Pamela very much of Harleen's on that last meeting. Confused, tired, glazed over…

His focus was aimed out the window, watching intently as a bird flitted about on a branch just outside. But he turned to Pamela when her knuckles rapped gently on the door, his lips spreading quickly into a warm smile. "Hello."

Pamela's heart picked up speed. _Does he—_

"What did I do to deserve such a beautiful visitor?"

 _No. He doesn't._ "Hello, Anthony." She tried to smile best she could, even though her heart was breaking.

He became distracted when the bird pecked his beak against the window. "My helper said my Mother was coming to see me," he told her, his attention removed. "But I got a look at myself Tuesday—today," his correction sounded rather stern. "And if I look like this, I don't…" he simply trailed off rather than finishing his thought, watching as the bird cocked its head at him.

"Do you remember your Mother, Anthony?" Pam ventured, knowing that the hopefulness in her tone was useless.

"Do you?" he countered, pulling his gaze back to her, seeming to mimic the bird with his head tilt. "Did you have a Mother?"

"I did," she acknowledged. "And you had two. Two Mothers who loved you very much."

"And did they…love each other? Or did they love my Father?" Anthony wondered.

"Each other." Pam fought against the tears that had already begun to gather in her eyes, knowing that if she started now, she would never stop. "They loved each other just like they loved you."

"Very much," Anthony smiled.

Pam's nod was hurried, her affection racing her sadness. "That's right."

Anthony pursed his lips, giving her a thorough look over. Or, his version of "thorough", anyway, which seemed to translate to flighty and distracted. "I don't think I know you."

"Well, that's OK," Pam managed. "I know you, Anthony. Came all the way here to see you. May I…can I sit down? I'd love to visit with you, if I could."

"Oh, yes," there was noticeable excitement in his tone. "I have a chair for visitors." He pointed towards the arm chair beside the bed. "Karen makes me dinner at the table, but I like to be up here with the…um…the…sunshine," he finally managed. "And the flowers."

Gingerly taking a seat in the chair he'd indicated, Pam smiled at the potted marigolds on his bedside table. "Are they friendly?" she asked, rather than correcting the fact that he seemed to have referred to Tiffany as "Karen".

"Oh, yes, they're my friends," he smiled over at the flowers. "They keep me company when my—um—when the man isn't here."

Pam swallowed, leaning forward to take his hand. "Anthony, that man's name is Duke."

"Yes," he grinned. "Handsome boy."

"And…Duke is your son, Anthony," Pam finished. "Your only son."

His blue eyes flitted down to their joined hands and over to the marigolds on the bedside table before he came back to his Mother's face. "Oh, yes—yes, I know. Duke, my…my handsome boy."

Pam just watched him for a moment, feeling the warmth of his hand in hers. "Do you know what 'Anthony' means?" she questioned.

There was a light behind his eyes when he said: "That's my name."

"Yes," Pam acknowledged with a soft nod. "Yes, it is. And your Mama wanted to name you that because it means 'flower', and you…" she squeezed his hand. "Were our little flower."

"Mmm…" he hummed, not seeming to register the relation she'd implied. "I have a son, you know. His name is Duke. He's my helper."

Pam had to shut her eyes briefly to keep her tears at bay. "That's right. Duke. And do you…remember your wife's name?"

Anthony's brow furrowed in thought. "No, not right—no, but I have…I have this…there." He pointed to the shelf behind where Pam sat. "I want to show you all the people."

Turning slowly, Pam found there was a shoebox on the shelf labeled "To Remember" in black sharpie. She stood up to grab it, returning to her chair and setting it gently in his outstretched hands.

"I had more than this, but I couldn't remember the…uh…what's the…secret code, the word key…the—,"

"Password?" Pam guessed as she watched him open the lid on the box.

"Password," Anthony quietly repeated. "It's all locked away. But I have this." He went first for the Supergirl action figure, leaving the small pile of photographs be for the time being. "I think…maybe I liked this toy. She has superpowers, so…S…" he ran his fingers over the doll's chest. "And she has friends in here." he picked up the Aquagirl action figure next, and then the Battlemode Poison Ivy. "I wanted to remember them. I don't know why."

Pam pursed her lips, leaning forward. "Do you like their suits?" He didn't seem to understand the word, so she tried a different one. "Their clothing. Do you like the clothes they're wearing?"

"Yes, they…look safe," he told her.

Smiling, Pam said. "Those are real women, Anthony. There are real—non-plastic—versions of those women walking around, saving the world." She paused to take her glasses off, allowing her skin to drift back to its natural green hue.

She was worried he might be startled by her shift in appearance, but he just reached his own green hand out, trailing it down her arm. "Green…" he whispered.

"And, Anthony," Pam continued. "You made these clothes for them."

"I was…a clothes maker?" he attempted.

Pam shook her head. "You were an inventor." When he didn't respond, she placed her finger on the S on Kara's chest. "Supergirl," she told him, before moving to Mareena. "Aquagirl…" and then, "Poison Ivy."

Anthony blinked, looking up at her now. "This is you?" he wondered, holding the action figure up to compare.

Smiling despite herself, Pam nodded. "But you can call me 'Pamela'…or… 'Mom'."

He only held her gaze for a moment before dropping it, placing the action figures back in the box, mumbling: "My Mother is coming to see me."

He moved on to the pictures then, fingers running gently over the image of him as a teenager smiling proudly next to his sister who was wearing a leotard and a medal around her neck. He flipped it over quickly to read the back, written in his own handwriting. "Anthony, 15," he read aloud. "Jolene, 11." He flipped it back over to show Pam the picture. "I'm Anthony," he told her, pointing to his image. "That's me. And her name was Jolene. I think…maybe she was a ballerina. We smile a lot together, so she must have been my friend."

"She was your sister," Pam told him. "Your little sister. And she was a gymnast."

"Oh," Anthony said, again tracing Jo's features with the pads of his fingers. "Is she coming?"

Pam swallowed, shaking her head. "No, Honey. She died around 12 years ago now."

He frowned. "Why is she dead if she was littler than me?"

Gently encouraging him to move on to the next picture, Pam said: "Because nothing in life is guaranteed. Even…life itself."

Clearly Anthony found this upsetting, but Pam didn't have to deal with his agitation just then, as Duke entered the room with a glass of water.

"Hey, Dad," he greeted, obviously noticing the negative direction Anthony's mood was taking. "How's it going in here?"

"Why did you bring her here?" Anthony demanded, referring to Pam. "Why is she visiting?"

"I told you your Mom was coming, remember?" Duke prompted softly, likely knowing the answer to that question would be 'no'.

"Then I want to sleep until she comes," Anthony told them, his tone sour. Childish, even. Though Anthony was not a child anymore. Pamela couldn't hold him that same way. Her face and voice were no longer comforts to him. And now he wanted her to leave.

"I'll be back when you've had some rest," she muttered, rising from her seat. _There's still time_.

/

"He's already gone," Pamela murmured in the darkness, forcing Kara's eyes open again.

"That's not true," Kara whispered against the soft skin at the back of Pam's neck. "He's right here, Pam. In this house. And he might not know it right now, but he needs you here. You need to be here," she doubled down. "Don't give up yet."

It was a moment before Pam responded, and honestly, Kara thought she might even leave it at that. "He had no idea who I was, Kara. Not an…inkling. Not a single moment of recognition."

"Ivy, honey," Kara propped herself up on her elbow, shifting her weight so she was leaning over Pam in the guest bed. "We researched this. At this stage, there's not much you can expect from him. You're here to do your best and to remind him that he's loved in any and every way you can. I mean—Rao—Pam, can you imagine how scary this must be for him? Or was when he was slipping?" she prompted. "For a mind like his. So brilliant. For him to just feel the ground falling out from under him. Losing everything that made him… _him_. It's terrible."

"Perhaps," Ivy mused, her voice tinged with sadness, though Kara could scarcely make out her features in the darkness. "Jo…she had to remember everything. Everything of hers and everything of mine. So I don't know which is a worse fate. Remembering everything, or remembering nothing."

Kara thought on that for a moment, but it was a pretty straight-forward answer, as far as she was concerned. "Nothing, Pam. Because then you're losing everything. The good and the bad. You think I would trade my memories of Krypton, of my family, just to get rid of that one terrible day? No." She shook her head, moving back to her place behind Pam, her arm still wrapped around her waist. "Poor Anthony."

/

Pam stayed for two months. Kara commuting back and forth to The Watchtower from San Francisco, always coming back to her at night to share that guest bed. .

Every day, Pamela would have a conversation with Anthony that felt brand new to him. And even though he never recognized her, as time passed, he did seem to expect her in the mornings, and allow her to stay in his room longer into the afternoon. She was even allowed to accompany he and Duke on their daily walk.

She soon became "the helper", just as Duke was. But there was a familiarity to the name that comforted Pam. She'd somehow made herself familiar enough to him again to be allowed into his inner circle.

In an odd way, it truly was like having a toddler again. Anthony's mind would wander, his emotions would swing quickly, but his smiles melted Pam's heart just as they had when he was a child…her baby boy…

Whatever version of him this was. Whatever fraction of her son still existed…she would never be ready to say goodbye. Never.

And yet, she knew the day she would have to.

Knew as soon as the sun rose.

His energy was different. There was no walk. No daily meeting with his bird, no show-and-tell of his boxed memories…

He was tired. His eyes softer when he looked at her, his fingers weak as they gripped her hand where she sat beside his bed.

"My Mother…was beautiful…just like you," he told her. "Your…w—your g—," he seemed to be searching for the word.

"My girlfriend…"

"Does she know?" Anthony wondered. "How beautiful you are? How…good?"

Pam nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. "I think so."

"My Mother was good too," he smiled softly, his thumb running gentle circles on the back of her hand. "She was a superhero; you know? Poison Ivy…and she…there was a day…I was so—so sad and frightened. And Mama, she tried to calm me down, but it was so loud..."

"And your Mother picked you up," Pam whispered, remembering the day, not bothering to wipe her tears this time. "And she told you not to be scared because that was her job."

"And that flowers were just like people." Anthony continued, his expression peaceful. "Sometimes they're happy…sometimes they're sad…because sometimes humans are cruel. But my Mom…she wasn't—," he closed his eyes to find the word. "Human enough, to be cruel like that." Anthony's eyes had become glossy with tears of his own when he opened them. "Can you…stay here? Until she comes?"

"I'm right here, Baby. I'm not going anywhere." she squeezed his hand.

Anthony swallowed. "Can you…hold me?"

Pam nodded, wiping her tears quickly before climbing onto the bed, curling up on the pillows with him, allowing him to rest his head against her breast…just like he'd allowed her after Jo died…and just as she'd cradled him as an infant…toddler…9-year-old with a scraped knee, or a brokenhearted teenager.

"Anthony, I love you so much," she whispered into his hair.

His eyes were closed now. She could feel it. "I love you too, Mom."

It didn't take long for his breathing to slow, his weight heavy on her chest…

Pam pressed a kiss to his forehead, holding her lips there as she felt him slip away from her. "Goodnight, Baby…"

 ** _In loving memory of_**

 ** _Anthony I. Quinzel_**

 ** _Father, Son, Husband_**

 ** _2009-2087_**

 ** _"The best thing you can be is kind."_**

/

"God," Damian wiped his eyes. "Fuck your kids. Making me feel things."

Pam leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes, breathing in the fresh sea air as it wafted off of the ocean.

It was Duke's turn to throw his ashes now, and he stood on the edge of the cliff for a long while, looking out over the bay with the ashes clenched in his fist. When he felt it was time, he simply opened his hand and let the wind do the rest. Let the wind carry his father away from him.

Tiffany approached him slowly to make sure he was ok, and Duke just nodded silently, his gaze aimed at his feet as he shuffled back to the rest of the party.

Pam felt raw. Torn open and emptied out. Her babies…her wife…they were gone. Every person that had inspired her to change. To be better. They were dead. Her memories were filled with ghosts now, her life different than she could have ever imagined, but in this moment…worse. She…wanted to hear her children argue about extinct animals again. She wanted to hear Anthony playing his piano in the living room, and the plates shaking in the cupboards as Jo landed a backflip on the hardwood floor.

She'd memorized Jo's letter by now. Poured over every one of Anthony's sketchpads. But it wasn't enough. When her parents died, Pamela became an orphan. When her wife died, she became a widow. But now that her children were dead...was she even a mother anymore?

 _"Shh, shh, shh!" Pam heard Anthony's excited shushing coming from the living room. "You have to wait; you have to wait."_

 _"I'm waiting!" Jo was clearly struggling to keep her voice at a whisper._

 _"You guys are gonna blow our cover," Harley scolded._

 _And now Pam was intrigued, so she entered the living room cautiously…_

 _…only to immediately be hit by a rather strong gust of wind from the fan that was evidently set up to blast her, and deafened by the melodies of George Michael's Careless Whisper which was suddenly emanating from the record player at full volume._

 _"Can you n—," Pam immediately directed a vine so slam the record player and then the fan into the off position. "You three have to stop doing that!"_

 _"But Mom!" Anthony cackled, laughing harder at how his sister was now rolling around on the floor. "You're so glamorous!"_

 _"Harleen, did you buy an industrial-sized fan just for this bit?" Pam demanded._

 _"Umm…well…I guess you could say," Harley was wiping her eyes free of tears. "I didn't…not? Buy an industrial-sized fan for this bit? What the hell else are we gonna spend our money on, Pam?"_

 _"Pizza!" Jo suddenly shot up to her feet. "Pizza and leotards and more big fans!"_

Pam stood with her hand outstretched over the bay, surrendering to the moment. To the sun on her back and the wind in her hair…and her son in her hand.

He'd loved this view. And now…he would be one with it. Enveloped into the scenery.

So she let him go.

/

"You don't have to do this for me," Damian assured her. "I promise. If you're fed up with this task…"

Pam shook her head, her fingers combing through his hair. "When you provide the option to stay, I suppose it also implies the option to go. And you…stayed, for a long time."

Damian smiled kindly at her. Softly. A smile filled with admiration. And then his gaze drifted. "I can't believe you came."

"Yeah, me neither," Delilah smiled, kneeling beside him. "But I'm really happy I did."

"You didn't have to. None of you did," a tear slipped down Damian's cheek. "I'm sure you think I'm a coward…"

"Dad," Terry's voice was gentle. Smoothing. "After the life you've lived? Nothing could make you a coward at this point. It's OK to let go."

Pamela wiped the tear off Damian's cheek. "I wasn't—for my Father—,"

"Yeah, we know, Dad," Daisy leaned down to kiss his temple. "And you can apologize to him when you see him."

"I never thought I'd have anything like you," Damian admitted. "I'm so—so proud, you're mine. So happy."

Terry smiled even as his eyes became glassy. "Tell Mom we miss her."

Damian just nodded, overcome with emotion at this point.

Pam squeezed his hand. "Thank you for loving my baby. Even when I couldn't. Even when she didn't make it easy."

"And thank you for being there for her, and for them, when I was too afraid," he exhaled, firmly holding her gaze, his hazel eyes made clearer by his tears.

Swallowing down her own emotion, Pamela whispered: "Are you ready?"

Again, he nodded, words weren't necessary. Nor were they even possible, it seemed. Though, as she raised the syringe to his arm, he suddenly stopped her, saying: "Wait!" and leaned up on his elbows to kiss her—full on the mouth. He collapsed back on the pillows once he'd finished. "Well that answers that." He grinned up at her.

"Wh—," Pamela knew she _shouldn't_ be offended. But…she was feeling oddly offended. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Damian just shrugged. "I have my preferences. And Jason can suck it." He winked.

 ** _In loving memory of_**

 ** _Damian Wayne_**

 ** _Husband, Father, Son, Protector_**

 ** _2007-2098_**

 ** _"Anyone can be broken. Not everyone can pick up the pieces."_**

/

"23 years and no one wanted to try and clean that off?" Delilah prompted, nodding up at the Hellbat suit, still with the white spray paint on the chest.

"I'm sure they tried," Pam leaned against the glass. "Why did you do it?"

Delilah shrugged, though not like she was shrugging off the question, more that she genuinely didn't have an answer she felt comfortable with. "People do stupid shit when they're angry."

"That is true…" Pam acknowledged, nodding slowly. "Your Nana ended up in a wheelchair because I was angry. In the last conversation I had with my daughter, I hung up on her because I was angry. And, unlike you, I actually did murder my Mother because I was angry. My Father too. Strangled them while they lay in bed. My Mother was as old as yours was when she died, and I squeezed until the life left their eyes. _That_ was anger. This?" she nodded up at the suit. "Was frustration. Now here." Pam reached behind the case for the spray bottle and rag she'd set there (23 years ago). "Your Mother loved that suit, and it's not going to clean itself."

"Wh—are you serious?" Delilah was somewhere between surprised and appalled.

"23 years is a long pit stop, Delilah," Pam started past her towards the metal stairs that led out of The Cave. "I've been waiting a long time for you to clean up your mess. So, welcome home, Sweetheart." She paused at the door. "Now let's get to work."

 **Author's note: So, technically that was the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue, so stay tuned.**


	92. Chapter 92

**Epilogue**

"OK, let's go down the list. Shoes?"

"Check!"

"Matching socks?"

"Nope!"

"But we tried," Kara assured herself. "Snacks?"

Linda became distracted when the cat nuzzled against her leg. "Mommy, I'm hungry."

"Yeah, Lin, I know that, it's why we're doing the checklist, remember?" Kara had to take the girl's hands and squeeze gently to get her to pay attention. "You're gonna be grumpy if we forget something."

"Can we bring Kitty?"

"No…but we can see her as soon as we get back," Kara smiled, bending down to kiss her daughter on the head before straightening up and grabbing the bag they'd packed. "OK, say goodbye, and let's get out of here. We have to walk, and we don't want to be late."

Linda knelt down sadly, gathering the cat into her arms. "We're not leaving forever, Kitty," she told it, blue eyes staring intently into the cat's green ones. "We'll come back as soon as our tummies are full." Then she leaned forward and kissed its nose, eventually letting it crawl off of her lap and scurry back to its scratching post. "We can leave now, Mommy," Linda said, sounding heartbroken as she reached up a hand for Kara to take, her mother helping her to her feet. "Kitty will miss us, but she will be OK."

"Kitty has been around for a really long time, Lin," Kara chuckled, opening the front door and locking it behind them. "She knows that people come and go."

"Yeah, OK," Linda dropped her hand, already on to the next thing, stomping down the front steps and into a puddle on the front walk. "That's a good one."

Kara followed behind, stomping into the water with a bit more force. "It is a good one!"

Linda giggled. "You don't even have rain boots, Mommy."

"You think Mom's gonna be mad if I have wet shoes?" Kara wondered, grinning as she took Linda's hand to walk down the sidewalk.

The girl shrugged. "She cannot timeout you."

Kara laughed. "Timeout me? We don't even timeout you! Where did you hear about timeouts?"

"I seen a show," Linda sagely informed her.

The walk took longer than it should have. It always did. Everything always did. The big, wide world could be a scary place for a child like Linda. One who heard louder and saw further than her little mind could process all at once. But, unlike Kara, Linda had been born into this environment, meaning that at 4 years old, she was already better acclimated than Kara had been at 18.

But, of course, Linda wasn't completely Kryptonian. She had an added set of obstacles to navigate.

"Can I press the button?"

Kara leaned down to whisper in her daughter's ear, "Do you remember what floor?"

"The very top," Linda whispered back, aware of the other people in the elevator.

"Mhm." Kara smiled. "You need help?"

"Not if I use my tippy-toes…" Linda said, doing just that, her index finger just barely reaching the button before she triumphantly fell back onto her heels.

"Nice job." Kara grinned, squeezing the girl's shoulders. The squeezing was important, they'd learned. Kept Linda in her own body. Reminded her to keep her feet on the ground.

She waited for Kara when the doors dinged and then slid open, gripping her hand until the other elevator occupants had exited before allowing Kara to lead her out.

"Get me the report by Friday, and we'll see what we can do."

"They won't even be wrapping up the second trial until Thursday. That's a pretty tight window."

"Then just ask for something preliminary. Some light weekend reading, I don't give a sh—,"

"Mom! We came to get you!" Linda yelled down the hallway, interrupting what seemed to be an important conversation.

Pam stopped in her tracks after rounding the corner, breaking into a wide smile, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her daughter. "You came to rescue me?"

"Yes! And to eat dinner!"

Pam laughed, turning briefly back to her subordinate. "Just keep me updated, alright? I'm flexible, but only to a point."

"Yes, Ma'am, I'll see what I can do," the woman replied, though Pam was already moving past her down the hallway, wrapping Linda in her arms and hoisting her up onto her hip.

"Did you walk here all the way from home?"

"Yes," Linda smiled shyly when Pam pressed a kiss to her cheek. "We stomped in puddles. But Mommy's feet are wet cuz she didn't bring her boots."

"Hey! Tattletale," Kara teased, tickling her side until Linda jerked away with a laugh.

"Well, you came just in time, thank goodness." Pam smiled, lowering Linda back to her feet. "I just have to grab my purse and then we can get some dinner. What sounds good?" she asked, taking Linda's hand and walking her back to her office.

"Can I have a calzone?"

"Yes, we can—,"

"You headed out, Ms. Wayne?" a man asked through his open office door. "Oh, hi, Linda, Kara…" he smiled.

Linda quickly hid her face against Pam's hip, and Pam wrapped a soothing hand around the back of her head, thumb rubbing soft circles in the girl's blonde hair. "I'll be in at 9 tomorrow, if you need me."

"Great." He nodded, though he seemed worried as he studied Linda. "Is she…"

"Shy," Pam stated, ending his question there. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Is she…autistic?" Kara mocked once they were out of earshot, Pam having picked Linda up again to make the journey to her office a bit quicker.

Pam chuckled, kissing Linda on the head and nodding over to the couch in her office where she'd set her purse. "Did I tell you he thought we were sisters?"

"No, you're married!" Linda pulled her face away from Pam's neck to protest.

Kara laughed as she grabbed the purse. "Not everybody's as smart as you, Lin. We'll set him straight some other time."

"I think you're the nicest wives." Linda lowered her head back to rest on Pam's shoulder. "I don't like that man."

"I'm just looking for a reason to fire him, Darling," Pam assured her.

/

"It's all taking longer than I wanted it to. I knew I should have run the trials myself." Pam was distracted by the menu she was showing Linda. "You like pepperoni, would you like pepperoni?"

"But I want it in the bread."

"Yes, that's what a calzone is, J—Linda."

"OK." The girl smiled. "But I want it soon because I'm hungry."

"Ah, well, in the meantime…" Kara leaned over to reach into the bag they'd packed, coming out with a bag of dried apple slices and handing them across the table to her daughter. "You can't run the trials and the company, Pam. That's crazy. You just gotta hire people you trust, and let them do their jobs."

Pam groaned, scrunching her eyes shut to run a hand through her hair. "How's the story coming along?"

"Oh, geez," Kara laughed. "Worse than your thing, I'm sure. No one wants to talk to me. I literally got a door slammed in my face the other day. Just 'Hi there, I'm—,' wham!"

"Well, if you ever need any help with persuasion…" Pam's fingernails tapped idly on her water glass.

"Pam…" Kara fixed her with a look. "Pam, that's called coercion."

"Goodness, how pure you are," Pam mocked.

"I am!"

"Oh, yes, I'm fully aware," Pam exhaled, leaning across the table to kiss her. "It's exceptionally irritating."

Kara grinned against her lips. "You knew what you were signing up for."

"I am done with my apples now," Linda announced, pushing the empty bag away from her. "I would like my inside pizza now."

"Calzone, Lin. You know the word," Kara reminded her.

"Would it be considered coercion to speed up our service?" Pam wondered.

Kara narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. "I think…that's an evil I can live with...but only because I feel like we might be close to a tantrum."

"Excellent." Pam increased her pheromone output, and a waiter was at their table in seconds.

/

 _Gaia, she has way too many t-shirts…_

"Which one for sleeping, Lin?" Pam wondered, holding the top drawer of the dresser open.

"I don't want one of mine, I want one of yours," Linda protested, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on top of her covers, hair just now dry from her bath.

"M-mm, not tonight," Pam shook her head, unfolding one of the many sleep-wear options and turning to hold it up to her. "We're working on sleeping in our own clothes in our own bed, remember? So let's pick out something cozy."

Linda shook her head at the pink t-shirt Pam was holding. "Nuh-uh. A different one."

Pam sighed. "Do you have a suggestion? Or am I going to unfold every single t-shirt in here looking for one that's probably down in the laundry room."

"I don't like that one." Linda, again, waved it away, with more force this time. "It's too loose, I don't like it."

"J—," _Linda, Linda, Linda._ "Linda, you just saying 'no, no, no' all the time isn't helpful. Do you have a shirt in mind?" Pam didn't wait for her to answer to turn back around, knowing it was a pipe dream to request a specific instruction. _Uh, blue?_

Linda looked uncertain as she unfolded it, but by the time the graphic was revealed, she was smiling broadly. "Yes. Supergirl." She suddenly jutted her hands out, grabbing at the air in front of her. "Gimme, please."

 _"_ _Turn it around, Jo. Look!" Anthony urged._

 _She did just that, and when she saw there was a Bat-symbol on the chest, she absolutely lost it, her tears of joy turning to full on sobs._

 _"_ _Jolene," Harley sat forward and set her coffee down. "Jolene, would you like to put it on?"_

 _"_ _Yes, please." She cried, getting up and running over to Harley, thrusting the garment at her with both hands and turning her head away like it was too amazing to even look at anymore._

Pam blinked at the 'S' emblem her daughter now wore on her chest. The girl's green eyes sparkling as she hugged herself, holding the fabric of the t-shirt as close to her skin as possible. "Are you…" Pam cleared her throat. "Happy with that one?"

"Yes," Linda smiled contentedly, climbing under her blankets. "Mom, can I wear this when I'm a supergirl? Or do I have to wear a leafy like you?"

 _"_ _Mama…" she clutched the fabric in her hands. "Its—Mama…"_

 _"_ _Yes?" Harleen giggled._

 _Tears began to well up in the girl's eyes. "It's a gymnastics outfit, Mama."_

 _"_ _Jolene, why are you crying?"_

 _"_ _Cuz it's—cuz it's," she held the leotard up to the light, watching as it shimmered. "Cuz it's the prettiest outfit I ever saw."_

"You can, um—you can wear whatever you want, Sweetpea," Pam told her, sitting down on the bed to tuck the blanket around her daughter's shoulders. "We're doing tonight all by ourselves, right?"

Linda nodded earnestly, her brows furrowing in determination.

"Good," Pam smiled, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind the girl's ear. "Now let's look and see who we have in here…" she glanced over her shoulder. "There's…Mr. Desk. Can he talk?"

"Nope." Linda shook her head.

"And Mrs. Lamp? What about her?"

"Nope," Linda repeated. "Only Mr. Plant can talk."

"That's right," Pam nodded, leaning down to kiss the smooth skin of her daughter's forehead. "So if you hear anyone else, besides Mr. Plant, what are you doing to do?"

"Shut the door," Linda stated, resolute.

"That door?" Pam wondered, pointing to the one that separated the bedroom from the hallway.

"No, no," Linda shook her head, raising her finger above the blankets to tap her temple. "This one."

"That's right," Pam smiled, kissing her again, this time on the cheek. "I'll see you when the sun comes up."

"OK," Linda whispered, closing her eyes reluctantly. One eye, and then the other. Pam waited until both were closed to rise from the bed, plugging in the nightlight and shutting off the lamp before closing the door softly behind her.

She paused with her hand on the doorframe for a moment, standing in silence to make sure Linda was settled, and then started down the hall, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it aside as soon as she entered her bedroom.

Kara was laying on her side of the bed in a sweatshirt and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants, squinting at her tablet.

Pam sighed, relief reverberating through her body as her knees hit the bed. "Do you have any idea how much I've been looking forward to this?" she asked, crawling slowly over Kara's body, pushing her sweatshirt up to reveal her muscular stomach.

"Hm…mhm," Kara responded distractedly, evidently scrolling to the next page.

"I was completely distracted in my budget meeting today…" Pam traced the line of Kara's muscle with her tongue, ending with an open-mouthed kiss just above her navel. "You…were all I could think about." She smiled, raising her eyes to look up at her wife…

Only to be met with the sight of the tablet Kara was still holding in front of her face.

"Uh-huh, and then what?" Kara randomly prompted.

Frowning, Pam propped herself up on her elbows, bracketing Kara's hips. "Umm…and then I…convinced myself I wasn't desperate enough to masturbate in the bathroom?"

"Aw, that's great, Honey," Kara offered, scrolling again. "Good for you."

"Wh—," Pam sat up further. "You're not listening at all, are you? Hey!" she tapped her leg. "Hey, hello? There were promises made, Kara."

"What?" the blonde finally moved the screen to peer down at her. "What are you doing? Where's your shirt?"

"Where's my—it's—," Pam blinked. "Kara, it's Tuesday. You said we'd have time tonight. I have the receipts."

Realization seemed to dawn suddenly. "Oh! Yeah, right, right. OK, hold on, I'm just…here, look at this."

"Is it you naked?" Pam asked before Kara could turn the screen to her. "Because unless it's you naked, I'm really not interested."

"Just really quick! Just really quick." Kara handed Pam the tablet and sat up to yank her sweatshirt off. "There. Sign of good faith."

Pam rolled her eyes, sighing with significant exaggeration and rolling onto her back, holding the tablet above her. "What is this?" the screen displayed a series of handwritten notes in a mixture of English and Kryptonian. "Who translated this? Linda? I hope not a fully-grown adult."

"No, it's—." Kara stopped to laugh. "No, it's from my source."

Pam scoffed, scrolling up. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call his Kryptonian fluent…conversational, even. Did he hand this to Kara or Supergirl?"

"Well...Supergirl."

"Then he's been watching too many Rosetta Stone commercials." Pam locked the tablet, setting it down pointedly on the bedside table. "And I'd be weary of any information he gives you. _And_ if he thinks he's stealing you away from me…" Ivy yanked Kara down on the bed by her thighs, so she was now hovering directly above her face. "Then he should know I learned Kyptonian first. And much better."

Kara grinned, leaning up to kiss her. "Do you think she's gonna sleep all the way through tonight?"

"I do." Pam reached back to un-clasp her own bra, moving her lips to Kara's neck. "I really, truly do."

Kara hummed, closing her eyes, her fingers coming up to tangle in Ivy's thick red hair. "You almost called her 'Jo' again today."

Pam stilled, keeping her eyes on Kara's neck. "I caught myself."

"Yeah," Kara sighed, fingers now carding soothingly though Pam's hair. "But you don't always."

Her fingers fell away when Pam pulled back to look at her. "I don't do it on purpose, Kara. Or with any…malice aforethought. It just happens."

"Pam, I'm not mad at you," Kara assured her. "I just…think maybe it might be time to introduce them."

"Introduce them?" Pam almost laughed. "Yes, right. Introduce them." She suddenly sat up, fishing her cellphone out of her pocket and quickly dialing a number.

"What are you—,"

 _"_ _You've reached Jolene Wayne, please don't leave a voicemail. It's 2075. We've moved passed that."_

 _"_ _Hi, Jo, it's your Mother," Pam began, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, facing away from Kara. "I know you've been dead for 60 years, but my wife—Kara? You remember Kara—she'd love it if we could swing by to introduce you to our—."_

 _Kara snatched the phone away, ending the call. "That's not what I meant, Pam, and you know it. I just mean—you told me you explained all this to Anthony and Jo. Explained you and how you're still here, showed them your parents…Linda knows all about Krypton, but all she knows about you and your life is that you're half plant, and she's got some plant in her because of it."_

 _"_ _She's 4 years old, Kara. Jo was 7 when I told her about my parents, and she cried even thinking I'd had a family or a daughter before her," Pam said, standing to unzip her slacks, peeling them off her legs._

 _"_ _But Linda isn't Jo, Pam. She's Linda," Kara reminded her, a bit of force in her tone. "She doesn't have to know about Woodue or anything, but telling her about Harley and Anthony and Jo isn't gonna hurt anybody but you, maybe."_

 _"_ _I've done my mourning," Pam muttered, tossing her pants into the hamper in the corner. "I don't understand how introducing her to people who were born over 120 years ago is going to help her."_

 _"_ _Because maybe then she can know what she's up against!" Kara sounded exasperated. "Know that they're ghosts she's competing against!"_

 _"_ _Comp—she's not—Kara." Pam turned. "Linda isn't competing with anyone. Just like Jo didn't compete with Anthony. Just like you don't compete with Clark. I loved my children then, and I love them now. Just like I love Linda."_

 _"_ _Then tell her that, Pam!" Kara almost pleaded. "I just—look, I grew up in somebody's shadow, OK? And it—it's frustrating! Competing or not, it can get frustrating. I want Linda to know who her shadows belong to. That's all."_

 _Pam shook her head, climbing under the blankets and switching the lamp off. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke. "I'll think about it."_

 _/_

 _"_ _And…what about this one?" Pam asked, fingertips brushing the soft yellow petals of the flower as she lay on her stomach in the garden._

 _Linda frowned in thought, her feet kicking in the air behind her. "It's a…m—marigold."_

 _"_ _Did you pick these out yourself?"_

 _"_ _Yes," Duke said, seeming to hold his breath._

 _"_ _Marigolds," Pam reached out a hand and gently stroked the dainty petals._

Pam closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Yes. That's right."

"I like the yellow ones," Linda smiled. "They look like me."

"They do…" Pam mused, running a hand through the girl's soft, blonde hair.

 _"—_ _blue. Like your eyes, and the yellow is like your…_ " _Pam cleared her throat, blushing slightly as she set the flower back down_ _._

 _"_ _Linda, Darling…Can you wait here a moment?" Pam asked, her voice a bit strained. "Be with the flowers while I go get something? I'll be right back."_

 _"_ _OK, but can you tell Mommy to come outside with me?" Linda asked, eyes straying from the flower to Pam._

 _"_ _Yes." She brushed the girl's bangs away from her forehead to kiss her there, and pulled herself up to her feet, starting into the house._

 _Kara was in the kitchen washing some strawberries—the only kind of 'cooking' she really did. "I thought we could have a picnic!" She craned her neck to watch Pam come in through the back door. "Do we have any Oreos left?"_

 _"_ _Yes, in the cupboard," Pam muttered distractedly, crossing through towards the stairs, but stopping at the glass kitchen door. "Can you head out there now? She's nervous."_

 _"_ _Oh, sure, where are you—," but Pam was gone before she could get the rest of her question out._

 _She walked quickly to the stairs, ascending past the baby photos of Linda and pictures of she and Kara that lined the wall. At the second landing, she took a right, reaching up to grab the rope and yanking down the ladder for the attic._

 _This space had been important for Pam when they bought the house. In fact, it was the deciding factor. The attic was spacious, not stuffy, with windows and plenty of ventilation. She'd known this was where she'd be keeping her memories…her previous life…and she wanted it to feel…homey, somehow. Not like she was shoving them in some far corner of her mind, but more like she was giving them all a new home. Her family, they'd come with her, but initially she'd wanted to keep them somewhat separate._

 _It had taken Pam a long time to marry Kara. Nearly 20 years they'd been together before she proposed. But it'd never felt terribly necessary. She loved Kara, and she knew Kara loved her…but, ultimately, they were still married to their previous lives. Their previous loves. But after Delilah died—early, too early. And Tula—her youngest great-grandchild—had a daughter of her own, Pam decided maybe it was time she and Kara took a step further. A step closer to each other._

 _It had been a small ceremony. Just family, really. Her children's children, and her children's children's children. And Clark and Jon…_

 _Linda had come years later. After she said goodbye to Duke, and then to Daisy. Kara was afraid to ask. Afraid to want something, or need something from Pam. But Pam knew she wanted a baby. Knew it that Christmas she and Lena had spent at their house. Saw the loss and the sadness in her eyes at not having one. So 48 years after Pamela's last baby died, she'd had another one. A girl. One that she convinced herself she would do better with._

 _And they were different, her girls. Very different. Linda was a new challenge, but one she finally felt like she was up for again._

 _Pam swallowed as she opened the first box, grabbing the photo album off the top, her eyes lingering on the envelope that lay below._

 _Put me in a specimen jar, file me up on the shelf…take me down when you need to, unpack me if you feel like it, but keep moving forward. Always._

She nodded to herself, closing the box back up and putting the photo album beneath her arm, climbing back down the ladder and then the stairs.

Linda was exactly where Pam had left her, though now Kara had joined her, sitting on the grass with the bowl of strawberries between them.

Kara glanced up, her eyes traveling down to the photo album, and a sort of knowing smile spread over her lips. "Hey, Lin," she got the girl's attention, pulling it away from the flower she was whispering to. "Mom has something to show you."

Linda perked up, turning to watch Pam sit down beside them. "Is it story time?"

"Well…yes, I suppose." Pam's smile was a bit nervous. "Linda, I'm not sure if you know this…but I am very old."

"Like Mommy?" she wondered.

Pam moved closer. "Even older, if you can believe it. And you know how the older you get, the more friends you make?"

Linda nodded.

"Well, I've made a lot of friends in my life," Pam told her. "And not just friends, either. Family, too. And I—um—well, your Mother and I thought, perhaps you'd like to…learn, about them."

"Your more family?" Linda wondered, sitting forward on her heels to get a better look at the photo album Pam still hadn't opened. "Can I see?" she held her hands out, and after a reluctant moment, Pam handed her the book.

"Be careful, please…" Pam whispered, watching Linda's little fingers pass reverently over the cover and open to the first page.

Linda didn't speak at first, just looked. Studied. "Is this baby you?" she finally asked, pointing to the picture in the upper right hand corner.

Pam shook her head. "No…no, that was my son," she told her.

"But it—it has the green and your hair."

"Yes," Pam smiled. "He was born with green skin, just like mine."

"What does a 'son' mean?" Linda wondered.

"It means…that he was my baby, just like you are my baby," Pam explained.

"Is…is he my brother?" she asked, her voice only a whisper, like she was afraid she'd scare him away if she spoke any louder. "Is he still a baby?"

Pam cleared her throat. This is what she'd been concerned about. "Yes, he was your brother, Linda. But no, this picture was taken a very long time ago. He grew up, became a man, even had a baby of his own, and then he…passed on."

Linda turned quickly to her. "No, you mean he is died! That's sad!"

"Very sad," Kara agreed. "Mom was very sad for a really long time. But he was a good man, and he lived a happy life, so we don't have to be sad if we don't want to."

Frowning, Linda's eyes wandered to the next picture. Anthony was a toddler, dressed in his Robin onesie, Pam holding him upright in the old greenhouse. "What was his name?"

"Anthony," Pam smiled. "And this…" she flipped to the next page. "Is Jolene. She was my little girl."

"Like the night song…" Linda whispered.

Panicking slightly, thinking Linda's plant DNA had attributed similar side effects as Jo had suffered, Pam asked: "What do you mean?"

"After you put me to bed…" Linda's index finger trailed gently down Jo's infant nose. "I can hear the song. You listen downstairs."

An odd sense of relief and embarrassment washed over Pam then. It was true she often listened to the song at night, when the house was quiet and Pam felt her loss the heaviest.

"Sometimes you cry…" Linda continued. "And I want to make you not sad, but you say to shut the door."

Pam nodded, her daughter's super-hearing had certainly been an interesting thing to navigate in her young life. But she was doing so well lately…Pam didn't know she'd heard that. "I don't always cry when I'm sad." Pam tried to explain. "Sometimes…I just cry because I miss her, or…I cry because I'm happy…or because you do little things that remind me of her."

They sat a moment in silence, all three of them, before Linda turned to Kara to ask: "Were they your babies too?"

"Nope," Kara shook her head, moving her left hand onto the book on Linda's lap. "Do you see the gold ring?"

"Mhm."

"Well, that one means Mom is my wife. But the silver one…is for someone I was married to before. A very long time ago. Your Mom had a different wife too," Kara told her. "Her name was Harleen, and your Mom loved her very, very much. Anthony and Jolene were their babies."

Pam flipped to the next page for her, to a picture of Harley holding Jo on her hip in the garden, the sun behind her, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. "That's my Harley…"

Linda smiled. "We have the same hair. Did your Jolene have my hair too?"

"Well, let's see…" Pam smiled, tears gathering in her eyes as she flipped to the next page. This one had Anthony in a Stanford t-shirt giving Jo a piggy-back at the beach. It was a picture Pam remembered had served as Harley's phone background for some time.

Eyes widening, Linda asked, "Are those your same babies?"

"Mhm," Pam nodded.

Kara chuckled. "Aren't they pretty, Lin?"

The girl was nodding now, pointing to Anthony. "He looks like the prince from the movie."

"But not quite your hair," Pam pressed a kiss to Linda's head, turning the page again.

Linda's eyes filled with tears of her own at the next pictures. "Your baby got married?"

"Mm…mhm," Pam wiped her eyes. "Why are you crying, sweetheart?"

"Because I like her smile," Linda sniffed. "And I don't want happy people to be died."

"Aww…Honey…" Kara wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulders, holding her close. "You know what? I liked Jo's smile too."

"I am not as pretty like her." Linda stared down at the picture of Jo and Damian dancing at their wedding.

"Sweetheart." Pam turned fully to her, taking her hands and squeezing. "You are the most beautiful thing in the world to me. You are beautiful just being you, just like Jo was beautiful being her. And you know what? She wasn't always this happy." Pam pointed to the picture. "She got very angry, and upset, and sad, just like you do sometimes. You know how…you set the dolls up in your dollhouse to make them look perfect? Brush their hair, give them new outfits…"

Linda nodded.

"Well, sometimes Jo was like her own doll. She'd put on pretty clothes and paint on a smile, but that didn't always mean she was happy inside. And we fought a lot, me and her. We didn't always get along. But do you know what she told me when it was time for her to go?"

"What?" Linda wiped her eyes.

"She told me that all the stuff I learned being her Mom. All the fights we had, or every mistake I made…I should learn from it. So that way me and my next daughter. Me and you." Pam booped her gently on the nose. "Can maybe understand each other a bit better."

Linda blinked. "She knowed about me?"

Pam nodded. "She knew, someday, there would be another little girl like her. And that little girl…is you."

Kara turned the next page for them. "This is Anthony's baby—Duke."

"He loved marigolds," Pam smiled, picking one from behind her and setting it in the crease of the book. "He had a wife and a daughter of his own."

"Is that his Mom?" Linda asked, pointing to a picture of Anthony standing with his arm around Karen at that first Thanksgiving.

"That's right," Pam acknowledged. "And this is Jo and Damian, and their _three_ babies. Three."

"That's so much!"

Pam chuckled. "Too much, for a little bit. But then they were very happy. They loved those babies a lot."

"Did they…love each other?" Linda wondered.

"Oh, yes," Pam nodded quickly. "Very much. His parents were my best friends in the world."

"Do you miss them?"

"Every day."

On the last page in this particular album was a singular photograph. Pam had taken it on she and Harley's honeymoon. And with the lighting, the flower in Harley's hair, and her serene expression, it was perhaps Pamela's favorite photograph ever taken. And she'd seen a lot of pictures in her time.

 _"_ _I'm so…glad…that you're mine,"_ Pam remembered whispering after the shutter had sounded.

 _"_ _Yeah," Harley exhaled, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Me too."_

 ** _Author's note:_ Thanks, guys. Your readership really, truly meant a lot. I sincerely appreciate your support of this story. Made me a better writer. Hope you all enjoyed it.**

 **PS. Linda Danvers was Supergirl's name in the comics before the TV show changed it back to her Kryptonian "Kara"**


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